Bound
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: Castiel sacrifices more than his freedom when he goes to save Sam from the cage, but he gains so much more in return. Now linked with Sam in a way no angel and human have been before, they struggle to pick up the threads of their old lives. S6 AU. Sastiel friendship/pre-slash
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my latest story. This wouldn't have got past the outline stage if it wasn't for two amazing women. Gredelina1 and Sandra. They have been amazing both with writing my writing woes and real life worries, and they have beta'd and pre-read this chapter respectively. I don't know what I would do without them.**

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_**Chapter One**_

The cost had been too great.

Castiel finally understood the reason behind his apathy to his return, why he could take no pleasure from the adulation of the other angels, or the triumph in halting the apocalypse; it was Sam Winchester.

When he'd drawn that first breath into his vessel's lungs in that cemetery in Kansas, Castiel had been filled with wonder at his return. Once again, God had reached out and laid a hand on him, bringing him back from the abyss to live again. Full of awe, he had healed Dean of his injuries and revived Bobby. Then, when Bobby's eyes had questioned him—_had it worked_—he had nodded. Yes. They had saved the world.

At first he'd thought it was Dean's devastation that was infecting him, making it impossible for him to find the joy in their triumph. But even when he'd taken his leave of Dean for the last time—powering down the highway at speed that hinted towards Dean's state of mind and own lack of concern for his safety—the jubilation hadn't come. He'd gone to Heaven, and there he'd been greeted by the garrisons, many of which were elated that he and the Winchesters had triumphed over Lucifer, and still he hadn't felt it.

It was a full thirty days of Earthly time later that the reason came to him. He was sitting on a cool, stone bench by a lake in the heaven of an elderly man who'd lived in the early twentieth century. The sun was rippling across the water like molten gold, and Castiel was thinking of the difference he felt in himself since his return, the vast untapped stores of knowledge he had been imbibed with, and then the answer came to him. It was Sam.

With understanding came a flash of realization. Castiel had been brought back for a reason, and this must be it; why else would he have been given such knowledge of the cage, and the ways in and out, if not for this purpose? He felt disgusted with himself that it had taken him so long to come to the realization. For every one of those days Castiel had spent nursing his confused feelings, Sam Winchester had been suffering at the hands of Lucifer in the cage. He needed to save him. He must save him. It was God's will.

And if it was God's will, who would dare oppose him?

If he had thought about it for more than a moment, he would have had his answer, two angry archangels would dare.

* * *

He plummeted down through the levels of Hell in his true form with his wings stretched proudly at his back. To an onlooker he would have been the very image of an avenging angel. And there were onlookers; demons turned away from their play for a moment to watch as he streaked by. A smile curled his lips as he felt their gaze on him. They would know to fear him, as they should; he was a warrior of God.

The cage was not a physical prison in the way humans imagined. It was a series of labyrinthine passages with a nexus at the very center where Lucifer presided. As he reached the lower levels of Hell, Castiel heard great noise, separate to the screaming of souls on the rack and those abandoned. It was like crashes of thunder and great screeching bellows. It was the sound of two archangels fighting in their pure form.

He was surprised that they'd abandoned their vessels, but pleased. It would be infinitely easier to free Sam if he was left unattended than it would be if he had to free him from Lucifer first. There was a way to expel an angel from a vessel, an enochian spell, that had once been used on him by Alastair—thankfully, Dean had saved him that time, but he had already begun to feel the ripping pain of being torn away—but he didn't know whether or not it would work on an archangel. It was a relief to know he wouldn't have to find out.

His wings pulled closed to his sides in a dive as he approached the cage. For the first time in a long time, he felt he was doing God's work, and that was an exhilarating sensation.

The cage existed separately from the other layers of Hell. No demon could penetrate this far, they would perish in the attempt. Only those touched by God could make the journey intact. As he touched down on the final level of Hell, he pulled his wings in tight to his sides and stood for a moment, preparing himself.

There were no bars to see through, no holes in a thick stone wall. The cage was indefinable by human methods of explanation. It was as God created it to be. Inescapable by an archangel but penetrable by a lowly seraph. More than that, it was escapable for him too. Castiel tensed his wings at his back and stepped through the haze that surrounded it. Into the cage.

Icy air swept over him, like the breath of some monstrous beast being exhaled, and he paused for a moment, taking in his surroundings. He had come to the intricate passages of the outer cage. Vast walls that stood higher than his erect form and so thick that they seemed to swallow sound. He couldn't even hear the rumble of the archangels' battle anymore. There was no noise, not even the sound of his wings pulling tight in at his back.

There were three paths in front of him, each of them identical except for the direction it lead, and he did not know which to choose. He spent a moment trying to decide before realizing this was the trick of the cage. He could stay here forever trying to find the _right_ way to go, and his mission would fail. Sam would not be saved. He walked right down the center, his vast footsteps swallowing the distance easily. He took turns at random, not worrying over direction, knowing the touch of God was upon him and that he would find his destination soon enough.

There was no sign that he was approaching the center, no whisper of sound or lightening of the air. One moment he was turning left, the next he was faced with sight of his brothers in battle.

They were beautiful and devastating. Their true forms towered over him and the walls of the maze, their wings spread wide and proud at their backs and their faces glittering with determination as their fists flew and landed, dealing blow after blow but never injuring. There could be no injury here in the cage, not for angels. It was suspended outside of reality. He wondered why they fought at all, if not for entertainment.

For a moment, a second of time in a timeless place, he stood and watched their combat, entranced by the beauty and ferocity they displayed. It was like nothing he had ever seen before in all his millennias of service to the Lord, and he had seen many things.

It was a moment too long. He forgot himself. He forgot his mission to free Sam. He was caught.

Michael dealt a blow to Lucifer, forcing his head to the side, and Castiel saw the look of surprise cross his fallen brother's face as he was spotted.

"Castiel?" Lucifer's voice was soft and soothing, everything it was supposed to be when speaking Enochian in its purest form. It was beautiful to listen to.

For a split second, he considered fleeing. Racing back through the maze until he found the weakness in the wall that would allow him to escape, but responsibility held him in place. He had a responsibility to Sam, and he would not abandon him to suffer alone, even though his staying meant his own torment.

Michael turned to look at him, and a slight smile curved his lips. "Hello, brother."

Castiel felt the human urge to squirm under their intense gaze. They towered over him, looking down at him as if he was a misbehaving child. He supposed, in their eyes, he was.

Lucifer stepped forward. "I destroyed you."

Castiel nodded. "I was returned." He hesitated for a moment. "By God."

Their faces twisted in identical expressions of regret and Castiel wondered what they were thinking. Did Michael ask himself why God had not seen that he would be cast into the cage when he left to fight Lucifer? Did Lucifer feel the pang of God's name as only a fallen angel could, or did he truly blame his father for what he had become?

Michael recovered himself first. "And he sent you to save me?"

He must have known that wasn't the truth, Castiel could no more save Michael than he could absolve Lucifer of his sins, but his look of longing was almost more than Castiel could bear.

He was saved the need of answering by Lucifer's laugh. "Save you, Michael? He cannot save you any more than he can save himself. He came for the vessels."

The _vessels. _Castiel was ashamed to admit he hadn't thought of the Winchesters' younger brother at all when he'd set out for the cage. His focus had been on Sam alone. But now, as he saw his defeat in Lucifer's dancing eyes, he knew he had been wrong to forget him. He should have saved them both. He could no more save anyone, least of all himself.

Michael's eyes darkened. "The vessels," he spat. "You would risk everything for them!"

"It is God's will," Castiel said solemnly.

"Did you hear that from God's own mouth?" Lucifer asked. "Or is that merely what you believe?"

Castiel straightened. "It is what I know."

The archangels gave him a look of sympathetic pity. Castiel knew there was no escape for him now. He was trapped, and his two greatest brothers would make sure he stayed that way. He had failed Sam and Dean and Bobby and most of all himself.

"And yet God has abandoned you now," Michael said, and Castiel could hear the bitterness shared by another of the abandoned. "And here you are." He turned to Lucifer. "What should we do with him?"

Lucifer smiled cruelly. "He came for the vessels. Let us reunite them."

Michael nodded and swept a hand through the air, pointing to a break in the maze walls opposite. "By all means, Castiel. They will be glad to see you."

Castiel wanted to skirt around them, to cower against the wall as he passed, but he forced himself to remain strong and brave as he walked forward and passed between them. They stepped back to let him through, and though he couldn't see it, he felt sure their faces were alight with amusement at his pretended calm.

The room he came out into was an antechamber of sorts. At the center was a rusted rack with bloodied shackles and chains at the corners of it. The floor below it was stained with coppery blood. The walls were made of unending flames, not as if the walls themselves were aflame, but more as if the flames made the walls. The heat swept over Castiel in waves, making his wings prickle.

At the foot of the rack, leaning against the bars that formed the end, were two figures. There were bloodstains on their clothes and singe marks. Their skin was marred with cuts and bruises, the slightest signs of what they must have endured in their time here.

The smaller of the two was limp against the taller man's side, held within a tight embrace, and comforting words were trickling down to him from the Sam's lips, reassurances and promises of protection. Sam Winchester was trying to comfort his brother the way he had been taught when he had been the youngest.

Castiel stepped forward and his movement caught the eye of the taller man. He blinked twice and then spoke in a cracked and hoarse whisper.

"Cas?"

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**You would think after writing as many stories as I have that I would be used to the nerves of posting a new one. I'm not. I am as scared posting this as I was the day I posted the first chapter of Breaking Down The Wall. The fact this is my first Sam/Cas pairing doesn't make it any easier. **

**If you enjoyed this chapter, please take a moment to review. I don't think I can overstate how much it means to a writer to hear that people enjoy what you've spent hours working on. I am also more than happy to accept constructive criticism. I am learning as I go, so any help you can offer would be gratefully received. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to Sandra for pre-reading and Gredelia1 for beta'ing. Love you ladies.**

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_**Chapter Two**_

"_It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him."_

They should have been his last words. The last words that mattered anyway. There had been Enochian that followed, the words needed to open the cage, but the last words he had spoken to his brother had been a reassurance, and that was okay, because it was time he returned the favor. Dean had spent his life reassuring Sam, comforting him and supporting him. That was the message of the last words he heard Dean speak.

"_Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you." _

Sam had wanted them to be his last words that mattered. He had wanted to take that dive alone. But he hadn't, and they weren't.

He wrested control of Lucifer just in time to save his brother's life, and he had forced the archangel down, screaming and struggling, to trap him within his mind. Then he had opened the hole, and stepped back, preparing himself to fall, but he had been too slow. Michael had come, carting Adam along with him as a passenger in his own body, and Sam had known what he would have to do. He looked into Adam's eyes, knowing what fate he was dooming his brother to, and dragged Michael and his brother with him into the hole. Into Hell.

Lucifer struggled against Sam's control until the moment they collided hard with the ground, and then he threw Sam aside, like sloughing off a skin, and allowed himself to move freely.

Sam knew on some level that what he was seeing wasn't real; Nick's body had been abandoned in that rundown building in Detroit, but when Sam looked at Lucifer, that was who he saw. It was Nick's features that were twisted with rage and Nick's eyes that glittered dangerously. That made no sense, but Sam understood. Lucifer was in his true form now, and Sam's mind simply couldn't encompass it. He supposed he was lucky he hadn't been blinded like poor Pamela had been when she caught a glimpse of Castiel's true form. Perhaps if he was really part of the world, he would be. But he wasn't now. He was in the cage. His mind and body were separate from the reality of Earth, and he was able to see anew.

Lucifer glared down at him with Nick's face, and Sam fought the urge to cower away from him. He was soon going to be in pain, and that would be bad, but he had a more pressing responsibility. A duty to his brother.

Like Lucifer, Michael left his vessel, but unlike Nick, there was no one else for Sam to see in Michael's place. Instead, he saw two Adam's. One lie quiescent on the floor, and the other began circling Lucifer, as if he was choosing the place to strike.

Sam ignored Michael and Lucifer, and dropped to his knees beside Adam. He reached out an unsteady hand and touched his cheek. It was cool to the touch, like a corpse, but as Sam's fingers curved to the contours of Adam's face, his eyes opened and rolled madly in their sockets.

"Sam?" he said doubtfully, pushing himself to a half sitting position. "Where are we? What's happening?"

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. "Adam, I'm sorry," he said plaintively.

Adam looked around him and Sam did the same. The room, if that was what it was, was vast. There was no ceiling he could see. Whiteness filled his vision when he looked upward, and the walls seemed to be cast of rough stone. He had a feeling he wasn't really seeing what was there. Like with Nick and Adam, his mind couldn't compute what he was seeing, so it presented him with something tangible rather than the mind bending nothing it really was.

"Where are we?" Adam asked again.

Sam couldn't bring himself to say it, to admit what he had done, so he bit down hard on his lip and stared remorsefully at the floor, then he heard an almighty crash, and he cringed away from the sound. Lucifer and Michael were fighting, but it was unlike anything Sam had ever seen before. Their bodies, so much larger than they had been in life, were lit from within by pure, white light that cast an aura around them. Their arms flew and landed blows at ferocious speed, and the sound hurt Sam's ears.

Adam was shaking as he watched the two archangels do battle, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. "What's happening? Who are they?"

Sam didn't want to answer, he didn't want to tell his brother what he had done, but Adam deserved the truth, so he swallowed down his reluctance and asked in a steady voice, "What do you remember?"

"I was in that room with you and Dean, the beautiful room, and then there was this… light. It hurt me, and I knew I had to make it stop, so when it asked me, I said yes. After that, I don't remember much, just flashes."

Sam was expecting that. Jimmy had said being Castiel's vessel was like being chained to a comet. He didn't know why it was different for him, perhaps because Lucifer wanted it to be different, but he remembered everything from the time he was trapped and Lucifer was pulling the strings.

"The light was Michael," he said reluctantly. "You were saying yes to being his vessel."

Adam looked up at the battling archangels and winced. "What happened? How did we end up here?"

Sam looked up, forcing himself to hold Adam's gaze. "This is Hell, Adam. We're in Lucifer's cage."

Adam shook his head jerkily. "No! We can't be!"

"I'm so sorry."

Whereas he had been sagging and weighed down with his shock and fear before, now Adam was angry. He lurched to his feet, backing away from the battling archangels and Sam.

"You're lying," he accused.

Sam shook his head. He wished he was lying. This was all his fault, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had trapped them both in this place for eternity. There was no hope of an escape, as he had made his brother promise.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

For a moment, he thought Adam was going to punch him, he looked ready to, but then something infinitely worse happened. He folded at the waist and started to cry. Great, broken sobs built in his chest and choked their way up his throat.

Sam crossed the distance between them and dragged Adam upright and into his arms. Adam struggled for a moment, and then he settled in Sam's embrace, shaking and gasping but accepting comfort.

"What are we going to do, Sam?" he asked between sobs. "How are we going to get out of here?"

Sam felt a sob build in his own throat and when he blinked, a tear slid down his cheek. "We don't."

Adam cried harder.

* * *

Sam had always been the younger brother. He knew exactly how to play that role, and he was good at it. He knew the main job of the elder is to protect the younger, he had learned that from Dean, but never before had he felt so out of his depth. Never before had he failed so badly at something he wanted so much.

He missed Dean.

The archangels' fight lasted days, or perhaps weeks, or maybe just minutes; it was impossible to tell time here. All he knew was that Adam was still crying when he was prised away from Sam and dragged to the rack, and Sam was crying too.

There was no need of shackles in Hell, no need of chains, Lucifer and Michael could restrain them easily enough without, but they chose to use them anyway. Possibly because of the mental element it would add to the situation. Adam was wrangled through an arch in the wall to a smaller room and strapped to a rusted metal rack in the center, and Sam was chained against the wall, with a perfect view of what was happening.

Adam struggled against his restraints, but for all the good it did, he might as well have stayed still. He was bound fast.

Like surgeons over a patient, Michael and Lucifer stood on either side of the rack, and they exchanged a glance before getting to work. Adam's shirt was torn away, baring his skin to the frigid air of the room. Sam could see his chest heaving as he drew panting breaths.

From nowhere, Lucifer retrieved a straightedge razor and presented it to Michael. "Would you like to…?"

Michael bowed to Lucifer and took the blade. He rested it against Adam's skin, right below his left nipple, and Adam's breaths sped even more.

"No," he begged. "Please don't!"

Michael tittered as he pressed down, breaking the skin and starting blood flowing from the small cut. It ran down Adam's chest and dripped down to the floor with soft plunking sounds, like rain against wooden planks.

Adam cried out and Sam bit back the urge to do the same. Michael and Lucifer seemed to relish the cry. It made them smile and exchange a knowing glance.

Michael offered the razor to Lucifer, but Lucifer shook his head. "No need," he said pleasantly, and Sam saw another blade appear in his hand. "I brought my own."

Adam's cries grew more and more heart wrenching as they worked over him, cutting through his skin in clean sweeps, making the blood flow freely.

"Leave him alone!" Sam shouted when he could take it no more. He knew it would do no good, that he might even make things worse for Adam, but he couldn't help himself. He had to do something.

The archangels turned to him and smiled grimly. "Patience, Sam. It will be your turn soon enough."

Sam's fear ratcheted up a notch and he felt his heart hammer against his ribs, as if it was fighting to escape his chest before its turn came.

Lucifer and Michael got back to work, and Adam screamed out even louder. Every cry tore at Sam's heart, as he knew this was all because of him. Adam was suffering now because of what he did, and soon, it would be his turn.

* * *

Sam had once heard someone say that anticipation of pain was worse than the pain itself. They were wrong. Pain, when performed at the hands of two archangels, was infinitely worse. The only thing harder than seeing his own heart plucked from his chest and held up for his examination was watching it happen to someone else, to Adam.

The archangels soon learned Sam was a stronger subject than observer, and that made things worse for both him and Adam. Sam took his fair share of turns of the rack before they learned their lesson, and even after that, they made sure to get regular sessions in on him, but more and more often he was forced to watch as they hurt Adam.

"You can blame your brother. He has a weak stomach, you see," Lucifer told Adam when the younger man had begged to be released. "It hurts him more to watch than to partake, and as our quarrel is with him, we have to turn to you to meet our needs."

Adam had locked eyes with Sam as Lucifer had spoken, and Sam had seen the accusations and questions in his eyes: _How could he let them do this? Why didn't he help?_

"I'm sorry," Sam had said, all the while wishing there was something more, something that could actually help.

Sam wouldn't have blamed Adam for wanting nothing to do with him in the brief reprieves when he was off the rack, for shunning him, but if anything, the opposite was true. Adam clung to him in those brief times, sitting so their shoulders and hips were pressed together, and when, after a particularly brutal session on the rack, Sam had put his arm around Adam's shoulders, the younger man hadn't cringed away. He had nestled in closer instead and cried into the torn fabric of Sam's coat.

For the first time in his life, Sam was the big brother, and he had never felt more adrift and alone.

* * *

The cage was timeless, there was no way to gauge the hours or minutes spent on the rack or chained against the wall, but they knew time was passing slowly. It felt like they'd been in the cage for years. There was a routine developed, and Sam found that something of a relief. Unlike Dean, who let things come in theirown time, Sam preferred to work to a schedule; perhaps it was a holdover from his Stanford days.

It wasn't a stream of constant torture in the cage, there were breaks between, and in those times Sam did his best to take care of his younger brother. They stayed in the room with the rack between times. Sam preferred it to the vast, unending room, and Adam never wanted to stray far from Sam's side. It wasn't a comfortable room by any stretch of the imagination, the rack was in the center, reminding them constantly of what was to come, and the walls had a propensity to turn to flame when the archangels weren't there, but it was theirs.

The injuries attained in a session of suffering were immense, hollowed chests and amputated limbs, but all was magically repaired at the end of each bout. There were still signs of damage that appeared though;small nicks and cuts, bruises and crooked fingers. They both started to look as though they were the victims of a particularly violent mugging. It was as if the mental damage of what was happening to them was leaving its mark on them physically. Adam looked the worst; he was under the knife so much more often than Sam. As the injuries accrued, Sam wondered if one day they would stop healing them. If there would come a time that he was forced to hold his own heart in his hand because they chose not to return it to his body for him.

He dreaded that time.

* * *

It was a day, if time in the cage could be broken down into days, like any other, and Sam had just been released from the rack. Adam was due to take his turn, and he was terrified. He was cowering under Sam's arm, and Sam was trying to reassure him with useless words about how he would be okay and that Sam would take care of him.

The archangels were battling in the vast room; Sam could hear their blows falling. He had long since decided that they fought only as a form of entertainment when torture had lost its luster. It was the equivalent of him and Dean watching an old movie together; something they did to pass the time.

He was waiting for the moment their fighting would cease, and they would come for Adam, when the sounds of their fighting broke off. Adam tensed at his side, and Sam tightened his hold on him. "You'll be okay," he whispered. "It won't be so bad."

He was lying and they both knew it, but what else could he do?

There was movement at the arch between the two rooms, and Sam turned, expecting to see Michael and Lucifer returning, beaming smiles in place, anticipating what was to come. But it wasn't an archangel that stood in the arch. It was another familiar figure. He blinked twice, trying to clear his eyes of the hallucination, but it remained.

Sam licked his lips and spoke in a cracked whisper. "Cas?"

The figure nodded. "Yes, Sam. I have come."

It couldn't be real. Sam had seen him die. He had watched, powerless, as he had been blasted into atoms by Lucifer. He had seen the gore coating Bobby's face. He knew that had happened, so how was he looking at the angel now? Had Hell finally broken his mind as it had been threatening to do for so long?

"I am here, Sam."

Real or not, hallucination or fact, he couldn't stay. Sam didn't know how Castiel had come to be there, but he knew he had to get out before he was seen. Michael and Lucifer would tear him apart.

"Cas," he said desperately, "you have to go. If they see you… If they know…" Castiel shook his head solemnly, and Sam's fear for his friend increased. "Cas, you have to _go_." His voice broke on the last word.

Castiel looked into Sam's eyes, and there was such terrible sadness there that Sam knew at once what had happened. Castiel couldn't leave. It was too late for him now, too. He was just as trapped as Adam and Sam.

Sam shook his head and a tear slipped down his cheek and fell onto the worn denim on his jeans, leaving a small dark spot. "They've seen you."

"Yes," Castiel said simply.

Sam sniffed and tried to force back the tears from his eyes. He didn't want to cry anymore. It would upset Adam if he noticed, though at the moment, he seemed oblivious. Sam looked down and saw that his eyes were open but he was looking across the room at the flaming wall as if there wasn't a third person in there with them. Not for the first time, Sam wondered just how much damage had been done to Adam's mind. How much did he even understand anymore?

Sam couldn't talk about what happened, and he was scared to ask the questions he needed answering, so he cleared his throat and asked in a conversational tone, as if they weren't currently having the conversation in the very depths of Hell at the mercy of two archangels, "How are you here, Cas? I saw you die."

"I was returned," Castiel said, and Sam detected a certain hint of pride in his voice. "God brought me back."

Sam couldn't help but feel a prickle of anger. He was glad Castiel was back, elated even, but why was it that God roused himself to save Castiel but not to avert the end of the world. How much care could he have for creation when he allowed all those people to die in the year of the apocalypse. Why didn't he stop his sons fighting in the first place?

"I was able to resurrect Bobby, too," Castiel said.

Sam gaped at him. "Bobby's alive?"

"Yes." Castiel paused, as if expecting another question, but Sam couldn't bring himself to ask it. If he knew, he could never not know. His last comfort—that his brother was alive and well somewhere in the world—could be lost. "Dean is well, too."

Sam breathed out a shaky breath of relief and the tears that he had been holding back began to fall. Dean was alive. Dean was okay. Even in this darkest of all places, Sam was happy. More than happy, he was exhilarated. The thought that the injuries from Lucifer's attack—with Sam's fists—should have killed him had tormented him almost as much as the sounds of Adam's cries.

When he was sure he could speak with a steady voice, he asked, "What are you doing here, Cas?"

Castiel smiled slightly. "I came to save you."

For the first time since Castiel's arrival, Adam roused himself. He raised his head slowly and looked at Castiel. His voice was cracked and raw, but in the near silence of the room, it was clearly audible. "You've come to save us?"

Castiel bowed his head. "I came to try. I was seen and now I am a prisoner too."

Adam tilted his head to the side and buried his face against Sam's shirt. Broken sobs escaped him and his whole body shook. Sam held him and brought his free arm up to tangle in the hair at the back of Adam's neck. "It's okay," he soothed. "We'll be okay."

Adam's garbled words seemed to convey a clear meaning: How could they possibly be okay? They were in Hell.

Sam just held him closer.

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**Thank you so much for the reviews, faves and alerts. I was blown away by the response to the first chapter. I didn't think there would be so many people interested in a Sastiel story. **

**If you enjoyed the chapter, please take a moment to leave a review. It really does mean the world to me to hear what you think. **

**Next week's update will be early or late depending on when I get time to prepare it as I am going to a SPN con, where I will be meeting… *drumroll* Jared Frickin Padalecki! I am beyond excited about it so prepare for a squee'ing authors note next time. **

**Until then…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews, faves and adds for the last chapter. This one is where things really pick up, so brace yourselves for some angst and excitement.**

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_**Chapter Three**_

Castiel thought perhaps it had been worth being trapped here to see the expression on Sam's face when he heard his brother was well. It was like nothing Castiel had ever seen before; exhilaration and joy in Hell. He hadn't been able to say more, because what could be said? Dean was devastated. Dean was broken. That was the Dean he had last seen and he had no reason to believe the intervening weeks had done anything to heal him. Sam didn't need to know that though. Sam knew he was alive and that had made him happy, so that was enough. He didn't remain happy long.

Sam was still comforting Adam as best he could, and Castiel was watching, not knowing what to do or say to help them, when Castiel felt their approach. He stiffened and moved across the space in strong strides to stand in front of Sam and Adam, as if he could protect them if they were hidden from sight.

Lucifer was first, towering over them all in his true form, and his lips were curled back in a snarl as he saw Castiel's position. Michael followed him in, and he seemed amused by Castiel.

"Really, Castiel," Lucifer said. "You think you can protect them. I would have thought you learned your lesson by our last encounter."

"You cannot defeat me now," Castiel said. "I have the grace of God."

That was true. He could not hurt Castiel in that way, he did not have a soul, he had grace and that was resilient. There were other ways he could be hurt though, and with Lucifer in command of the cage, it would be easy. He had to be strong though. He understood he had been misguided when he thought God had brought him back to save Sam from the cage. If that had been true he could not have failed. His true purpose was really to protect the cage's innocent victims. That was what God wanted of him now.

Lucifer tittered and swept a hand through the air. Though Castiel struggled to stand his ground, there was no resisting the power that pushed against him. He was forced away from Sam and Adam and held against the still burning wall. He could feel the flames licking over his skin, but there was no pain. It wasn't holy fire; Lucifer was not capable of replicating that, even in this place of his command, so it could not damage Castiel. It was an agitating sensation though, and Castiel found himself struggling to get away from the flames regardless. His focus slipped from what was happening around him for a moment and came to the two men cowering at the end of the rack.

Castiel supposed he should have expected it, he should have known Hell would corrupt Michael, but he was stunned when he was the one that grabbed Adam and dragged him out of his brother's arms.

Adam struggled and shouted for help, and Sam tried to oblige, but he was powerless against the force of Lucifer.

"Sam, please!" Adam howled.

Sam thrashed desperately against Lucifer's grip. "Adam! No, stop! Leave him alone!"

Their cries seemed to feed Lucifer and Michael's pleasure in the situation. They smiled widely as they each wrangled their targets into the restraints. Sam was pushed against the wall, now devoid of flame, and chains were wound around his chest and arms. Adam was forced onto the rack and strapped in place with restraints at each ankle and wrist.

"Now, Adam," Lucifer began. "We don't want you holding back today. Make sure to tell us when it hurts. You have a new observer and I want him to get the full effect of what happens here."

Adam was crying. Tears were sliding down the sides of his face and into his hair. "Please, no," he said desperately.

In response, Lucifer produced a razor and held it up in front of his face, examining the honed edge. Then, in a move so fast it would have been a blur to Sam and Adam's eyes, Lucifer swept the blade through the air and Adam's chest, baring muscle and flesh and bone to the air.

Adam howled with agony, and the sound hurt Castiel's ears. He did not want to watch what they were doing, as he suspected that they wanted the audience, but he couldn't look away either. He was entranced by the macabre spectacle.

He heard a sound separate to Adam's cries of pain and heaving breaths, and it took him a moment to recognize the sounds as Sam. He was crying too, as if every wound inflicted on his brother cut him. He wished there was something he could do or say to help, but words had never been his strength and there was nothing he could do. He was a lowly seraph and they were archangels.

* * *

When the archangels were finished with Adam, they swept from the room, casting satisfied glances over their shoulders at his broken body. They had healed him from the physical wounds they had caused, returning his chest to a whole entity rather than the gaping cavern it had been before, but the other signs of what he had endured remained. His face was pockmarked and scarred, and there were dark bruises marring his skin. Those signs of injury disturbed Castiel more than anything, especially those on Sam's face, as he knew the truth of them.

The chains fell away from Sam's chest and he lurched forward toward his brother. Adam hadn't attempted to move, and Castiel thought perhaps he couldn't. The damage was great now, there was little time left for him.

Adam groaned as Sam eased an arm under his shoulders and helped him to sit on the edge of the rack. There was tremendous guilt in Sam's expression as he helped, and Castiel wished there was something he could do to make that expression fade.

"Cas, can you help?" Sam asked.

Castiel hurried forward and slid an arm around Adam's shoulder. The young man flinched as if their touch was causing him more pain, but he muffled the sounds through a bitten lip as they eased him down to the floor. Sam immediately sat beside him and Adam collapsed against his side.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said.

Castiel hated that there was need of thanks; that so much damage had been done to Adam. He was a pure soul, or at least he had been. He should never have been touched by the supernatural. If the world was as it should be, he would have had a long way from the touch of an angel. He would never have been cast down into this place.

Adam stirred feebly and groaned, and Sam's expression tautened.

"Cas," he said softly, as if not wanting to disturb the younger man. "Is there anything you can do about this?" He gestured feebly at the bruises and cuts marring Adam's face. "I mean can you heal him? He's hurt pretty bad."

Castiel wished he could give any other answer but the truth, but he couldn't. The damage Sam was seeing wasn't damage to Adam's body; it was damage to his soul.

The human soul was incredibly resilient, but it had its limitations. It could only bear so much before losing its ability to heal. It wasn't just physical harm that hurt it, but mental. Adam had been through too much and his soul couldn't cope with much more. Given the signs of damage Castiel could see, he was amazed the young man was still functioning as well as he was.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "There is nothing I can do."

Sam nodded. "I should have figured. It's not real, right? It's Hell."

Castiel wondered for a moment whether he should tell him the truth, that the marks they both wore were the consequence of their slowly failing souls. That the damage would eat them up until there was nothing left but a spark that had once been humanity. If they were in the other levels of Hell, that damage would transport itself to demonic energy. Their souls would corrupt into darkness. But the cage was different. The wounds struck here would drag a soul down into nothingness.

He decided Sam didn't need to know that.

"It is different," he confirmed.

* * *

In hindsight, Castiel thought he should have known what would happen. He could have warned Sam of what would happen. But he hadn't seen in time, and it was too late when he did. Adam was already gone. Sam's intentions were good, of that Castiel was sure, but it was ultimately his own failing that helped his brother slip away.

Adam had grown restless. He wept quietly and occasionally moaned as if in physical pain. Castiel supposed the slow death of a soul would be painful, not that he had experience of such things. He had no soul. He had grace.

When Sam had started talking, Castiel had been just as enraptured as Adam seemed, and he hadn't realized what was going to happen.

"I don't want to be here," Adam had said in a moan.

Castiel saw Sam's features twist into a grimace of pain, and he wondered what he was thinking, but then Sam started to speak, and he found himself lost in the imagined world instead.

"We're not here," Sam said. "Not really. This is all a dream, and soon it will be over."

"Where are we, Sam?" Adam asked, and his voice was childlike and soft.

"We're in Heaven. There's a place there, I saw it once, and we're together. It's a bar called Harvelle's, and they have cool beer on tap and all the bar nuts you can eat. All the people we love are waiting for us there, and there's so many of them. Your mom is there. And Dad, he's there, too. And one day… Dean." As Sam said his brother's name, a faraway look came into his eyes and Castiel knew he was seeing that imagined place as clearly as if it was a picture in a frame.

"Sounds good," Adam said quietly.

"It is good," Sam said fervently. "It's the best place there is. We're safe there. The angels won't come, and we'll be able to talk and laugh. We'll have all the time in the world, and no one will ever hurt you again. Me and Dean, we'll take care of you."

Adam nodded and then his head dropped down onto Sam's shoulder. Castiel saw it happen, he saw the moment the light went out of Adam's eyes, but he didn't interrupt Sam's flow of words, even though the sight of Sam cradling a corpse to him was disturbing.

"You're going to be free there, Adam. You can rest and no one will hurt you. We'll see everyone we love again, and we will be together. You just close your eyes and you'll see."

Sam looked down, and for a moment he seemed to think Adam was following his instructions and seeing that other place, but then his eyes widened and Castiel saw fear cross his face.

"Adam?" he said harshly. "Look at me."

Adam was beyond Sam's ability to recall or command, and Sam seemed to realize that, but it didn't stop him from shifting so he was facing Adam, gripping his shoulders to hold him upright, and shaking him.

"Adam! Open your eyes!"

Castiel cleared his throat and stepped forward, and Sam's eyes snapped to him.

"Cas, help me. I think something's really wrong."

Castiel knelt beside Sam and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam shook his head jerkily. "No! No, no, no, no, no!"

"He's gone, Sam."

"He can't be. We're in Hell. You can't die in Hell!"

Castiel bowed his head. "His soul could not stand anymore. He has fallen as completely as if he had died on Earth. He's gone. Lay him down."

Sam either could not or would not obey. He clung to Adam's shoulders and stared at him, a wretched expression of devastation on his face. Tears streamed and his breaths were gasping, and still he clung to his brother's corpse.

* * *

A long time later, when Castiel had finally persuaded Sam to release Adam and to lay him down at the edge of the room, covered with Castiel's coat, Sam spoke.

"What happened to him, Cas?"

Castiel sighed. "I don't truly know how to explain."

"Try," Sam said in a broken voice. "I need to understand. He died, but we're already dead here, so how did he die again?"

Sam was sitting on the floor, leaning against the rack again, but there was no one to cling to him anymore and he looked oddly adrift without it. Castiel found that he didn't want to have this conversation towering over Sam, so he knelt down in front on him and laid his palms flat on his knees.

"The strain was too much for Adam to bear. You have to understand that though you are here in body, and it seems that when they hurt you that is what they inflict the damage on, it's really your soul they hurt. Your body is nothing here. You only see it as that is all you can conceive. Just as you see me as you knew me before."

Sam nodded vaguely. "I figured that."

"Adam's soul was not weak by any means, but nor was it as strong as yours. You have known great suffering and that has strengthened you. Until recently, Adam led a charmed life comparatively. He has never had to fight for himself or for others the way you have. That strength in your soul has given you resilience to their evil."

"So my soul is okay?" It sounded as though Sam was asking out of duty rather that any real curiosity.

Castiel didn't want to have to tell him the truth, but he owed Sam Winchester, and the truth was all he had to offer. "You see the marks on your skin?"

Sam prodded one of the bruises marring his hand. "Yeah."

"They are the signs of damage to your soul," Castiel said heavily. "As you saw, Adam was showing much greater damage than you before his… passing."

Sam nodded. "So that's going to happen to me, too?" He didn't sound concerned. Perhaps he thought oblivion would be preferable to Hell.

"No, Sam," Castiel said firmly. "I won't let that happen to you."

Sam laughed softly. "Yeah? That's what I said to Adam and look how well that ended. Face it, Cas, I'm pretty much screwed however you look at it."

Castiel shook his head, refuting the words. He would find a way to save Sam from his younger brother's fate.

He had to.

* * *

Sam was a different subject on the rack to Adam. Whereas Adam had begged and pleaded for mercy, Sam bore it without losing himself to the pain. He wasn't silent by any means, but he was proud. He didn't ask for mercy from those who had none. Castiel did not have the same restraint. He implored Michael—knowing there was no chance with Lucifer—to release Sam and take him instead. But it was no use. Michael would not be moved, and Sam suffered.

Then the time came for Castiel to be the one on the rack, and he marveled at Sam all the more. They could not hurt him with razors and fire, they used their archangel blades instead, and the pain was immense. His grace was ripped and savaged, and curse of it was that it could not be truly injured, so they were never satisfied. They wanted to see the physical signs of what they were doing, and there were none. Grace was far more resilient that a soul.

Castiel did not know how much time had passed since Adam, though he knew it must have been a while as there had been many sessions on the rack between, when Sam tried to say goodbye.

They had been given a brief reprieve from the torment as Lucifer and Michael vented their frustrations on each other. Sam was sitting beside the covered form that was Adam's broken soul, and he was looking thoughtful.

"Tell me about Dean," Sam said quietly. "When you saw him last."

It was the first time Sam had spoken in what could have been days of Earth time, and Castiel did not like the musing tone to his voice.

"He was driving," Castiel said, "I think to Bobby's. He was alone. I had already taken Bobby home, but Dean said he needed to be alone."

"How was he?"

Castiel frowned. "He was very upset."

"What else?"

"What else do you expect, Sam?" Castiel asked. "It was very shortly after you fell. He was angry at himself, at me, at God…"

"At me?"

"No, Sam. I do not believe Dean was ever angry at you."

Sam looked up and Castiel saw the wetness in his eyes. "It's getting harder to remember. It's like everything that happened before is being swallowed by Hell. I try to remember him and all I see is Adam."

Castiel hated the words as soon as they left Sam's mouth. It was a further sign, as if it was needed, that Sam was slipping away. The marks and scars and bruises marring Sam's skin weren't enough. He had to lose memories of the ones he loved too. Hell was crueler than its inhabitants.

"Do you think he'll forget me too?" Sam asked in a doleful voice. "Like I'm forgetting him."

Castiel smiled at the ludicrousness of the question. "No. That would be impossible."

"I hope so," Sam said with a sigh.

They fell into silence again for a long time which Sam broke.

"Thanks, Cas, for trying to save us. It means a lot that you tried.

"Why are you saying this?" Castiel asked, cool fear gripping him.

Sam shrugged. "I guess it just felt like the right time."

"Sam, do you feel like you're slipping?" Castiel asked intensely.

Sam bowed his head. "I don't know. Maybe. Does it matter?"

Of course it mattered. How could Sam be so calm about the possibility of oblivion? Castiel felt sickened at the possibility. He couldn't let Sam go. He had risked and given everything to save him, thinking it was God's will, he couldn't lose him now. His hands fisted at his sides, and he fought back the urge to shake Sam. He looked too fragile for that, as if a harsh word would break him in two.

"No," he said harshly. "You will not let this happen, Sam. You will fight."

He saw Sam's cheeks lift as he smiled slightly. "I don't think that's going to help, Cas. I think this is going to happen anyway."

Castiel turned away, shaking his head jerkily. There was no hope for Sam if he wasn't going to fight. He wished he had Dean's knowledge of the younger man. He would know what to say to make him resist.

"Sam, please," he said softly.

Sam merely ducked his head. "Sorry, Cas."

* * *

It was too dangerous, the risk was too great, but there was no other option. Sam was failing. If he didn't do something, Castiel would be covering another corpse of a soul.

He couldn't bear it. He had come here to save Sam from Hell, and he'd failed, the least he could do was save him from himself.

The archangels seemed to know it was coming too, as they had ripped and torn into Sam with abandon, showing their excitement. They wanted Castiel to be alone; they wanted him defeated. He had come into Hell, full of confidence, and they had trapped him. Now they would see him bereft of his only remaining companion. As far as Castiel could tell, they hadn't considered the possibility of him saving Sam through his grace, but that was exactly what he was going to do.

Horribly weaken by the archangels' ministrations, Sam could not raise himself from the rack without help. Castiel almost carried him away to the end of the rack where he preferred to sit and eased him down to the floor.

Angels had to ask permission to take a vessel. It was one of the limitations God had set upon them to protect his most valued creation. They had to ask permission. And Castiel knew he should ask Sam's permission to save him, but he knew in his head that he would do it no matter what Sam said, so he didn't ask. He consoled himself with the fact Sam would surely want to be saved if he had the choice.

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes were closed, but when Castiel spoke, they opened and fixed on him. "Yeah, Cas?"

"I am going to do something now, and it may hurt you, but you need to stay quiet. If they know what I am doing…" If they knew, they would punish them both severely.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked weakly.

"Saving you," Castiel said simply.

Sam tried to straighten, but Castiel held him down with a hand on his shoulder. "I am going to take something from you, and I will give you something in return. It will help you."

Sam looked scared, and Castiel hated that he couldn't comfort him. He couldn't even bear to give him a choice.

Castiel smiled and laid a hand on Sam's chest. "Be brave, Sam."

He reached out and felt the burning spark of Sam's soul, dimmer than it should be, but still alight with power, and closed his eyes. This was going to take precision and strength, and more than a little luck. It was a terrible risk to take, but if it would save Sam, it would be worth it.

Castiel hoped.

* * *

**Thoughts? Questions? Anger that I did away with Adam? Drop me a line and let me know what you think. **

**In other news… I just finished watching the season finale and I am still reeling. If you've seen it and want someone to squee/cry/shout/scream with, my inbox is open.**

* * *

**Asylum 12! I just got back from my con and for those of you that asked to hear about it… here goes. **

**Jared: Gives the best hugs in the world and Dear Chuck he is gorgeous. **

**Misha: I have no words. Hilarious and sweet and downright adorable. **

**Sebastian: I laughed so hard at his panel I was crying. He had the whole hall (probably about a thousand people) doing the Harlem Shake.**

**Mark P: Can defend Lucifer's actions like no one else, including me and I love Luci. **

**Mark S: Again with the defense. **

**Ty: He was just as wonderful as I hoped and his panel crashing was hilarious—Star Wars sound effects included. **

**Osric: He is such a sweetie. When I got my auto he was handing out candy. **

**Amanda, Tyler, Gabe, Aj and Adam: Wasn't that excited about them but they completely caught me off guard with their awesomeness. Adam's Yoda voice was worth going for alone. **

**If you get an opportunity to go to a con, you HAVE TO GO! Best weekend of my life. Even better than last year. **

**Until next time... **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks to Gredlina1 for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 for pre-reading. Long-ass author note at the bottom.**

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

Sam had once torn a tendon in his leg. The sound it had made as that part of him had been ripped was sickening. This sound was louder. It was as if something vital within him was being ripped in two. Then the pain came and it was intense. Sam's eyes closed, but if they had been open, he would have seen Castiel literally plunging a hand into his chest.

For a moment, he'd felt hollowed out and more alone than he had ever felt in his life, and then something had rushed into him, warming every fiber of his being, every cell, and completing him; he didn't even feel the pain anymore. It was as if he had been in two throughout his life, unaware of the absence, and only now his disparate parts were being reunited. It was the most amazing feeling he had ever experienced. He never wanted it to end, but it did; the feeling sapped out of him, leaving him aching for its loss.

Castiel fell back panting and rubbing at his chest as if it pained him. He looked like he was going to collapse, so Sam grabbed his shoulders and held him upright, not noticing the fact such a gesture would have been beyond him only a few moments before.

"You okay, Cas?" he asked.

Castiel nodded but did not speak. His legs seemed to be shaking, and Sam's grip on him tightened, as if by holding him upright he could hold him together. For a long moment, he thought he was going to lose Castiel as he had lost Adam, but the angel drew a deep shuddering breath and straightened, leaning away from Sam.

"I'm okay. I'm fine." He fixed Sam with a contemplative look. "Are you?"

Sam considered the question carefully. Before Castiel had done whatever it was that he'd done, he'd felt like he was slowly sliding down to the bottom of a deep cavern. It had been hard to hear what Castiel was saying when he was talking, even thought seemed to be beyond his capabilities, but now he felt revived, as if he had been living underwater before but now had breached the surface.

"I'm good," he said. "More than good."

Castiel's expression was familiar. Sam had once woken from what he thought was unconsciousness on a dirty mattress in a rundown cabin. His brother had come, and the look on his face had been pure relief. Sam didn't understand until later, when he'd learned that he hadn't been unconscious, he'd been dead, that the look was Dean's relief at knowing his deal had worked, that Sam had come back to life at the cost of his own soul. Sam remembered that look and he saw it again now on Castiel's face.

"Castiel," he said darkly. "What did you do?"

"I saved you," Castiel said simply.

"How?"

Castiel looked into Sam's eyes, and he seemed to be searching for something. "Does it truly matter?" he asked. "Is it not enough that you are saved?"

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "It matters."

Castiel sighed and moved away from Sam, walking the circumference of the rack. "You were failing, Sam. There was little time left for you, and I had to do what I could."

Sam raised an eyebrow. Nothing Castiel said so far was easing his worry at all.

Castiel looked up at him with in his eyes. "Without me you would have perished."

"What did you do?" Sam's voice was a low growl.

"I saved you. I bound us together."

Sam didn't know what he was expecting to hear, but it definitely wasn't that. He didn't even understand what that meant. He looked into Castiel's earnest face and his anger seeped away to be replaced by sadness and a sense of something indefinable.

"How does that…? What did you…?" He couldn't seem to arrange his thoughts properly. He was feeling overwhelmed and confused, and strangely scared. "Please explain, Cas."

Castiel raked his hands through his hair in an uncharacteristic show of uneasiness. "Your soul was so damaged, so wounded, that it would not have lasted much longer. I had to help."

"Yeah, I get that, but what _exactly_ did you do?"

Castiel looked up at him, and Sam stared into his brilliant blue eyes. "I split your soul. I took a part of it into myself where it could be protected."

Sam gaped at him. "You took my soul!"

Castiel shook his head. "Not in the way you are thinking. You are still a whole man. I have not injured you. I merely took into myself a minute part of you so it can be protected, and in turn, I left a part of myself." He looked intently at Sam. "I left a part of my grace, Sam."

Sam rocked back as if punched. "I have grace in me? But that's impossible. It's just… wrong!"

Castiel frowned and for a moment, Sam thought he had hurt the angel's feelings, and then Castiel schooled his face into a blank mask that hid whatever he was thinking. "It will not harm you, Sam."

"You think I'm worried about that?" Sam laughed darkly. "It's your _grace, _Cas."

It was the gift from God. What marked them as chosen. The grace of God. Sam was the abomination. The boy with the demon blood. The man that almost ended the world. There was no one less deserving of God's touch than him. And to take Sam's own soul, blackened and twisted by the demon taint into himself… How could he have borne it?

"I am aware," Castiel said. "I did what I felt I had to do to save you."

Sam didn't know what to say or do. He settled for dragging his hands through his hair and over his face.

"It can be reversed," Castiel said reluctantly. "I can give back what I took and remove what I gave, but it would be very dangerous. You are lucky to have survived the last time."

Sam huffed a laugh. "And yet you did it anyway. Damn, Cas, you don't do things by halves, do you?"

Castiel shook his head again. "I was saving you, Sam."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

He moved to stand in front of Castiel, hesitating for a moment. He had never done this before, but he guessed after the risk Castiel had just taken, the least he could to was this. He threw his arms wide and pulled Castiel into a tight embrace. For a moment, Castiel stiffened, and Sam worried that he'd made the wrong choice, but then Castiel's shoulders relaxed and he raised his arms to return the hug.

* * *

Sam felt that he should have known there would be consequences for what Castiel did. When had anything happened without a cost? And something as big as this had to have a hefty price tag. Had he thought of it, he would have imagined that he would be the one to suffer for it; that seemed a given with Winchester luck at the helm. He was wrong.

The archangels swept into the room, towering above them and smiling in the most beautiful and terrifying way. Sam tried to be brave, he tried not to cower away from them, but he couldn't help himself. Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder and Sam felt a small surge of that exhilaration in him that he had felt before when they were bonded. It didn't comfort him this time though. It seemed to agitate him further, making his heart pound against his ribs.

Lucifer reached out a hand and his fingers wrapped around Sam's arm, irresistible strength pulling Sam toward the rack. He didn't try to fight, there was no point. He had long learned that the only defense he had was to maintain his pride. He would not cower and beg for himself. He was a Winchester.

He allowed himself to become boneless as they pushed him down to lay across the bars of the rack. The chill of the metal seeped through his clothes, making his skin prickle painfully. He knew that discomfort would soon be eclipsed by others. There was nothing better to take your mind off of prickling skin on your back than having it peeled from your chest.

He could hear scuffling and he turned his head to see Castiel. He was being forced back against the wall, into the chains, and he was doing his best to put up a fight.

Sam wanted to say something, to reassure Castiel that it wouldn't be as bad as he was imagining, but they both knew that was a lie. Sam had hated to be the observer too. That was why Adam had suffered so much more than him… before.

Sam's eyes wanted to move to the covered mound that was his brother's corpse, but he denied the urge. It would only make it harder for him to control himself now, to keep from begging. He locked his eyes on Castiel's face instead. That would give him strength.

Looking at Castiel, he didn't see their preparation or the performance they made of producing their blades and exchanging smiles of anticipation. He was unprepared for the pain. An involuntary hiss escaped him as Lucifer drew a shallow cut across his chest. He knew it was shallow as he only felt the skin parting and not the muscle or flesh.

Then something unexpected happened. Castiel grimaced and his eyes drifted down to look at his own chest. Sam frowned. This had never happened before. He didn't know what it meant, but he had a feeling he needed to hide it. He couldn't let the archangels know.

When Lucifer dug the blade in deeper, talking all the while to Michael about the resilience of the human body—_'One of the things Father got right'_—he cried out. He stopped trying to restrain himself and gave full voice to his pain. It seemed to spur Lucifer on; the cuts and gouges became increasingly deep, and Sam suffered. He howled and screamed, and let himself truly give in to the urges he had been fighting since the first time they put him on the rack. He would let himself feel it, Winchester pride be damned. He would beg if that was what it took to keep their secret.

* * *

When Castiel had taken Sam into himself and shared his grace, he had known it was a risk, Sam could have been destroyed, but he had felt it was a risk worth taking. He had thought, when Sam survived the exchange, that they had been blessed, that the consequences had been avoided, but that was before Michael and Lucifer set to work on him again.

Castiel _felt _it.

He felt the knife sliding down his chest, parting the skin and drawing rivulets of blood from him. It was impossible. He had no blood here, as his vessel was not truly here, and yet he felt it all.

He had not imagined the bonding could affect them like this, but he had no basis of comparison. As far as he knew, no angel had done this before, taken a part of a soul into themselves and exchanged it for grace. The only time an angel had reached out to a human soul was to strengthen themselves, and even then it was rare.

Sam stared at him, and Castiel knew he had noticed his slip, and he tried to hide further reactions. He could ignore the pain that sliced into him as Lucifer tore at Sam and Michael spoke soft words of encouragement to his brother, advising and encouraging, telling him the places to target next, but he could not ignore Sam's cries of pain. Before, Sam had been stoic on the rack, not giving real voice to what he was feeling, but that was gone now. Sam howled and screamed and eventually begged for release. Every cry tore at Castiel like a knife, but he was strong, he did not show it.

Eventually, Lucifer reached the crescendo of his play on Sam, and with a triumphant smile he scooped Sam's heart from his chest and held it up, still beating, for their examination. Castiel felt it all: he felt Lucifer's fingers grappling in his chest, he felt the absence as the heart was removed, and he felt the horror of what he was seeing.

With a touch of a hand, Sam was made whole and healed again and freed from the rack. At the same time the chains around Castiel dropped away and he stepped forward.

"Now, Castiel, did you enjoy that?" Lucifer asked conversationally.

Castiel did not deign to answer. He would not give Lucifer the satisfaction. He just stepped forward and helped Sam up from the rack, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Unlike the other times Sam had been released, he didn't seem to need the physical support anymore. He stood tall, albeit on shaky legs. Castiel's grace had done its task and strengthened him.

"Are you not going to answer?" Michael asked. "Or perhaps you are unable to. I imagine that you are still reeling from the consequences of your bonding."

Castiel's head snapped up. They knew! They knew what he had done.

"Really, Castiel, did you think you could hide something like that from us?" Lucifer asked. "You are in my domain now. You can hide nothing from me. We see it, your grace burns within his eyes now, as his souls darkens yours."

"As if there could be any other result." Michael's lips curled with disgust. "You touched that… thing. That blackened and infected thing, and as if that wasn't enough, you took it into yourself. Castiel, have you no respect for our Father at all? After he saved you, not once but twice, you would defile your body like this. You would bind yourself to the demon child?"

Sam drew back from Castiel and stood against the wall, pushed against it, as if he was hoping he would disappear through it. There was something indefinable in his expression that Castiel wished he could decipher.

"I did what needed to be done," Castiel said. "I did what our Father would want me to do."

Lucifer laughed. The sound echoed in Castiel's ears like rumbles of thunder. "You poor, deluded thing."

Michael looked repulsed as he spoke. "Take it back, Castiel. Give back the foul thing and return your grace to yourself."

Castiel straightened. "No. You have trapped me here, and you try to hurt me here, but you cannot control my will here. I am still free."

Lucifer sneered. "You have never been free, Castiel."

"Never," Michael echoed and swept from the room.

Lucifer cast him a look of amusement and followed his brother, and Castiel's disquiet increased. He'd been sure that when they found out what he'd done, their punishment would be terrible, and yet they had left. What were they planning now?

* * *

What they were planning became obvious very swiftly. They threw themselves into torturing Sam with abandon. He was ripped and torn and shredded and healed again and again with no rest between.

Castiel did not know how long passed, he just knew Sam's body was becoming more battered and scarred and the grace was not healing it enough. He did not weaken emotionally though. He stayed strong and proud, and Castiel had no fear that he was going to lose him again. He fought.

It was in a very rare reprieve, when Sam and Castiel were alone, that Sam spoke and Castiel finally understood the indefinable expression Sam had worn when Lucifer and Michael had been taunting them. It was guilt.

"Cas," Sam said softly. "I'm sorry."

Castiel frowned. "For what?"

"For what you had to do," Sam said haltingly. "Taking my soul."

Castiel was sitting on the floor beside Sam, leaning against the rack, so he could not see Sam's face. He shifted slightly so he could look at him. Sam's brow was furrowed and he looked like he was fighting tears. "I don't understand what you are saying," Castiel said.

Sam sighed and fixed his eyes on the opposite wall, now in flame. "I should have been stronger. If I had, you wouldn't have felt like you had to do… that. You would have been clean still. I'm sorry."

"You believe I regret what I did?"

"I don't think you regret it, you're Cas, but I know you should never have been driven to that. You were an angel, pure, and now you've got my darkness in you."

"You know," Castiel said conversationally, "I have known you quite some time now, Sam, and I believe I know you well, and yet I never cease to be surprised by your ability to misconstrue a situation. I did what I had to do because it was the right thing. I saved you because I wanted to."

"But I'm the abomination. My soul is black," Sam said miserably. "You shouldn't have—"

Castiel cut him off with a sharp look. "Sam, you are not the abomination. You are a good man that made a mistake, anyone can do that. Admittedly, your mistake was great, but that was not your fault either. You believed you were acting for the best. As for your soul…" He sighed. "It is not black or corrupt or anything else you may be thinking. It is the purest thing I have ever touched, and it does not make me dark. It makes me light. If I have any regrets about coming here and saving you, it is that I did not do it sooner."

"But they said…"

"Sam, listen to me," he said sternly. "I don't care what they said. I chose to do what I had to do not because of some holy mission, but because I could not bear to see you fall. I saved you because I could not bear the thought of losing you."

Sam bowed his head and a tear slipped down his cheek. Castiel moved so he was sitting beside Sam again, and he reached an arm around Sam the way he'd seen him sit with Adam when he'd arrived. He was going to give comfort the way he'd learned from Sam, not the boy with the demon blood, not the abomination, his friend.

* * *

**Okay… I **_**know**_** Death said **_**'The soul can be bludgeoned, tortured, but never broken'**_** and I kinda rolled right through that with what Castiel did, but it **_**is**_** an AU story, so I'm making up my own rules. I loved the idea of Castiel saving Sam by taking a part of him and leaving a part in return. It seemed poetic that the 'boy with the demon blood' *rolls eyes* would be able to have something good in him for a change. **

**Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. I love hearing from you. This story is out of my comfort zone, so your kind words mean a lot to me. **

**In other news… I posted two (technically three, but one's a sequel) stories since my last update. Summaries are below. If they catch your fancy, give them a look. **

**Howling At The Moon: **Post Season Nine Finale. Sam and Castiel have tracked Dean down and now they are going to do whatever it takes to save him.

**Lamentation In The Veil: **Heaven and Hell are shut tight and Sam's finding that death is not necessarily the end anymore. Post S9 AU. Sequel to Howling At The Moon

**The Sound Of Silence Verse: **Sam risked everything by going back into the burning house, including his life, but he never thought this would be the price. A series of interconnecting one-shots following the fallout of Sam's choice and the impact on his family. Post 1.21 - Salvation AU

**If you made it all the way to the end of this and are still reading, well done. You should probably rehydrate now and stretch your legs to prevent clots ;-)**

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 for pre-reading. Love you ladies.**

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

The wood of the bar was scratched and mottled, with stains deeply embedded into the varnish. It was a dive by anyone's standards, but it was exactly what Dean needed. His scowl kept others away, and he was left in peace. The only person he drove himself to speak to was the bartender, and that was only to place each new drink order.

He was a contradiction in the form of a man. When he was alone, in the musty motel rooms he checked into, he wanted company, and when he was among others, he wanted to be alone. He knew what the problem really was. He wanted a particular person's company, but he wasn't going to be found in any bar in the world.

He was gone.

Dean downed his whiskey and gestured for another.

He wasn't supposed to be there. Not in the bar or even the town. He had made a promise, a promise to go to Lisa, but he wasn't ready yet. Lisa was a good woman, and he was sure she would open her home to him, no matter how broken he was, but it wouldn't be right. She had a child, a good kid, and he didn't need to be dragged into Dean's downward spiral. Dean had lived that childhood, and he didn't want that for Ben. He wanted to be sure that when he went to them, he would be an asset, not a drain to their family. It was the least he could do.

Even with his noble reasons for staying away from Lisa and Ben, there was still somewhere else he should be, but he couldn't bear to be there either. To see Bobby would be to see the reflection of his own grief in the older hunter's eyes, and he couldn't stand that. It was better for them both to be alone rather than feeding each other's misery. Bobby disagreed, of course. He called Dean almost daily, filling his voicemail with random news about his day and the hunts he was taking, as if either of them were interesting. He would finish each call the same way, reminding Dean that he had a place to go if he needed it, and asking that he take care of himself. Dean stopped listening to them a month ago, and he never called back, not willing to make any more promises he couldn't keep.

He was already keeping one too many.

'_You gotta promise not to try to bring me back'_

Bile rose to the back of Dean's throat and he picked up the whiskey the bartender had delivered and sipped it, feeling the burn washing away the bile. He wasn't nearly loaded enough yet. He needed a few more drinks inside him before he could go back to the motel and pass out on the bed. His sleep wouldn't be peaceful; he always dreamed. They weren't nightmares in the way you'd expect. He had seen plenty in his life, had experienced true horrors, but they weren't what came to him at night. In his dreams now, he relived happy moments from his life, good memories, and they were great, except for the point of waking, when he would realize they were dreams and that he would never share those moments again. His life was the nightmare now.

"Dean Winchester." The voice came from beside him and he heard the relief in the tone.

He wondered idly who it was, another hunter he'd come across before maybe. He turned and grimaced at what he saw. It was a young man in a tailored black suit. Dean knew immediately what this person was: another dick with wings.

"Wrong number," he said in a cracked voice. "Move along."

"You are Dean Winchester," the man said. "I have been searching for you."

Dean shrugged his shoulders and sipped at his whiskey. "I don't know who you've been looking for, but it's not me."

"My name is Isaiah."

"Good for you."

"I am a friend of Castiel."

That piqued Dean's interest slightly. If Castiel was sending his buddies after Dean, he must really want to see him. Unfortunately, Castiel was shit out of luck. Dean wasn't getting himself tangled in angel crap anymore. He'd done his part, paid his dues, sacrificed enough. He wasn't going to get dragged in again.

"I need you to come with me," Isaiah said, reaching for Dean.

Dean pulled back. "You touch me and I will make sure you regret it," he threatened.

Isaiah raised an eyebrow, possibly thinking of the futile nature of that threat, and when he spoke, he sounded pissed. "We need you."

"Why?" Dean asked. "You started another apocalypse?" He laughed slightly. "Sorry, my rule is one apocalypse a year and I don't go breaking my own rules. You'll have to come back later."

"It's imperative that you come with me," he said. "Many lives depend on it."

Dean scoffed. Lives always depended on it, and he was always the one that had to clean up the messes. But he was done. He wasn't putting himself out there to get kicked in the face again. He had lost too much to the fight now.

"It's about Sam," Isaiah said.

Despite the alcohol in his system, Dean moved swiftly and smoothly. He spun off his stool and gripped the angel's lapels. "You don't get to say that name!" he growled. "None of you. It's because of you and what you did that he's gone, so you don't get to say it. Understand?"

The man broke his grip easily by the simple expedient of taking a step back. "Because of us? I think your grief has blinded you to the truth. It was not angels that freed Lucifer and it was not angels that allowed your brother to throw himself into the pit."

"Listen to me you overdressed pile of—" Dean started, but then he realized the angel wasn't looking at him anymore. His gaze had become distant and Dean recognized the expression of someone that was tuning into angel radio.

"I must go," Isaiah said. "I am needed. Go to Bobby Singer's house. We will find you there to explain."

"So you say jump and I'm supposed to just…" Dean trailed off as the object of his ire disappeared with a faint rustling sound. "Fuck."

* * *

Nothing had changed in Bobby's yard from the last time Dean had been there. He had to wind the Impala through the rows of junkers with broken windshields and rotted tires. Some of those windows could have been broken by Dean himself—as a child, the temptation of rocks and glass had sometimes proved too much. The Chevelle was parked in the service bay, probably crapped out again, and the van was parked at the side of the house. It was all familiar.

He pulled the Impala to a halt beside the van and cut the engine. For just a moment, he questioned whether he should be there or not. Was there really a reason for him to be there, or had Castiel and Bobby plotted to get him there for some kind of intervention? It was only the slimmest possibility that there really was something about Sam he needed to hear that made him climb out of the car and make his way up to the front door.

His hand reached for the handle, to let himself in, but then he paused. For a long time, he'd been comfortable just walking through this door and announcing himself with a shout, but that was before. It had been three months since he'd seen Bobby, and there was every chance that the man's natural paranoia could have amped up enough for him to be aiming a shotgun at Dean if he just let himself in. Instead, feeling oddly formal, he raised a fist and prepared to knock, but before he could, the door swung open and Bobby was revealed on the threshold.

"You planning on staying out there all day?" he asked gruffly. "Or were you gonna come in sometime soon."

Dean felt his lips curve into a tight smile, which was all he could manage these days.

Bobby stepped back and Dean walked through the door and into the house. Nothing had changed inside either. The surfaces were all stacked with books and paper and the air had the scent of whiskey, old spice and something musty and unidentifiable. He looked around, searching for something that would indicate that Bobby had changed as much as Dean had, but all he could see that hinted at a change was the two empty whiskey bottles on the counter.

Bobby closed the door behind him and walked through to the library. There was a tumbler of whiskey on the desk, despite the fact it was only a little after noon, and Dean raised an eyebrow as Bobby raised it to his lips, but the older man took a defiant sip. "You going to give me crap about drinking when I can smell the whiskey sweating out of your pores?" he asked.

Dean raised his hands in defeat. The truth was he was surprised Bobby was letting himself go down that slippery slope. When they'd parted, Bobby had been itching for the hunt and when Dean had imagined him in the intervening months, as he had occasionally, he'd imagined him taking care of himself, not following Dean to the bottom of a bottle.

Bobby set his glass down and stepped forward. Dean knew it was coming a moment before it did, and he forced himself to relax rather than stiffening as his body wanted to. Bobby threw his arms around him, held him tight for a beat, and then released him to grip his shoulders and stare him up and down. "You look like hell," he observed.

Dean huffed a laugh. "You too." It was true. Bobby had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale and wan. Dean thought what he was seeing was probably a mirror of his own face. He hadn't taken the time to examine his reflection that closely in a while.

"Yeah, well I guess I've not been keeping up with my beauty régime lately."

Silence settled over them, and it wasn't the comfortable silence Dean was used to sharing with Bobby. There was tension and unsaid things beneath the surface. He didn't want to talk about Sam or the way the last few months had passed for him, so he asked his own question. "So, some dick angel tracked me down and told me I had to come here. Any idea what the deal is?"

Bobby shook his head. "I don't know. About a month ago, this angel arrived and started asking about Cas. Had I seen him? Did I know where he was? I told her I didn't have a clue. I hadn't seen him since… well, you know. She flapped off and came back a few days later asking about you." He shrugged helplessly. "I had no idea where you were, and I told her so, but she's been popping in every day since, seeing if I heard anything."

"They told me it had something to do with Sam."

Bobby looked startled. "You think he's got out?"

Dean shook his head. "If he had, we'd know about it."

There was something in Bobby's expression that Dean couldn't define clearly. It looked a little like disappointment.

"What?"

Bobby tugged off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't think he'd be gone so long," he admitted. "I was sure he'd be back by now."

"Bobby, he's in the cage, not Malibu. He can't just hop a flight back when he gets tired of the sun."

"I know that," Bobby said stiffly. "I was sure that wouldn't be the end though. It's Sam. That boy's dodged the bullet so many damn times I didn't know there was a way to make it stick. I was sure you'd do something stupid to get him back."

Dean felt like he was being chastised for not doing something. As if Bobby was disappointed in him for letting his brother down.

"I promised, Bobby," he said stiffly. "It's too dangerous."

"I know," Bobby said, then his expression softened. "Don't make it any easier though, does it?"

Dean shook his head. It definitely wasn't that.

Bobby gave him an assessing look and then said, "You ready to face the angel brigade?"

Dean shrugged. "Sure. I guess we better get it over with." He was sure that, whatever it was they wanted from him, it would be bad news. They said it was about Sam, but that didn't mean it was anything good.

He moved to lean against the edge of the desk and watched the dust motes dancing in the bright light streaming through the window, trying to prepare himself for whatever crap-storm was about to descend.

"Um, Inias," Bobby said, casting his eyes to the ceiling. "Dean's here now."

There was a soft fluttering sound and a woman appeared in the arch between kitchen and library. If not for the way she arrived, Dean wouldn't have tagged her as an angel at all. She was wearing dark blue jeans and a flowing shirt. Her long blond hair was pinned back but bangs hung to her eyes. In short, she was hot.

"Dean Winchester," she said in a stiff tone.

Dean tipped his head. "And you're Inias?"

Bobby shook his head, looking a little amused, and Dean guessed he had just made some kind of angel faux pas.

She scowled at him. "I am Rachel, Castiel's lieutenant."

"Since when does Cas have a lieutenant, other than Uriel I mean?"

"Uriel is dead," Rachel said.

"Yep," Dean said with satisfaction. "I celebrated that with a bottle of Jack. It was a good time."

"Uriel was the lieutenant of Castiel's garrison. I am the lieutenant of Castiel's army."

"Army!" Bobby gaped at her. "Screw lieutenants, since when does he have an army?"

"Since he waged war on Raphael and his followers. That is not your concern though; what matters is what happens now. Castiel is lost, and we need your help."

"Cas is dead?" Dean thought his ability to feel any emotion other than sadness had left him, but at that news, he felt a jolt of shock.

"No," Rachel said impatiently. "He is lost."

"How do you lose an angel?" Bobby asked.

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and drew a deep breath. "We did not merely misplace him. We believe we know where he is, but we are unable to retrieve him. For that, we need your help."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And what do you need us for?"

"The rings."

Bobby drew a sharp breath. "You mean he's…"

Dean felt shock roll over him. Bobby's voice was quiet, as if he was hearing him from the bottom of a deep well. They needed the rings. There was only one reason they could want them as far as he knew, and that meant Castiel had gone there…

"Castiel's in Hell?" he asked in a low voice, needing to hear it confirmed before he would believe it.

"We believe so. The last communication I had with him he said he had learned the reason behind God saving him. He left Heaven and no one has had communication with him since."

"He went to get Sam," Dean said, sounding as stunned as he felt.

She nodded. "That must have been his intention, but he has not returned."

"You think they caught him?" Dean asked.

"I can think of no other reason for him to fail to come back to us. He knows the stakes in Heaven and what we are facing." She looked intently at Dean. "We need the rings."

"You're going to open the cage." It wasn't a question, and Rachel didn't answer it. She merely stared into Dean's eyes, assessing him

Dean's mind was reeling. They wanted to open the cage. That was pretty much insanity as far as he was concerned. Sure, he'd considered it a hundred times, in the dead of night when the liquor was gone and he felt Sam's absence most strongly, but he'd never allowed it to get beyond consideration because of the risk. The cage opened, Lucifer walked free. It was simple as that. The cage opened, the world as they knew it ended. It was more than that though. If the cage opened, Sam's sacrifice would mean nothing. It would be the ultimate betrayal. As much as Dean hated what had happened, he knew it had been Sam's decision, and he had to respect that. Sam had made his feelings clear. He didn't want Dean trying to get him out. It was too dangerous. Sam had given up everything, dooming himself to an eternity of pain, and he'd done it knowingly. It had been his choice, his sacrifice.

Did that overpower what Dean wanted and needed?

"Say Dean does give you the rings," Bobby said, "and we get Sam and Castiel out, how is that going to benefit anyone but the three of us? We get the people we want back, but the world would be back to free falling toward the end. How is that better?"

Rachel tilted her head to the side. "Because, if we don't get them out ourselves, in a controlled manner, they will be brought out anyway by Raphael. Except, instead of Castiel and Sam being freed alone, Lucifer and Michael will be released, too. The apocalypse will recommence and the world will burn. Castiel and his followers are all that stand in the way of Raphael now."

Dean realized he was holding his breath, and he drew in a gasp, feeling his lungs expand gratefully. "You telling me Raphael is gunning for the world now?"

"He is a loyal son. He believes, as did Michael, that God wants the battle." She stared at Dean. "We need those rings."

Dean shook his head mutely, not in refusal but in sheer incomprehension. How could this be happening? How could there be another damn archangel gunning for the world? It was supposed to be over. Sam was supposed to have stopped it.

"I made a promise," he said quietly. "I said I'd let it be."

"And is that a promise you wish to keep?" Rachel asked. "Can you honestly tell me you wouldn't want your brother returned?"

No. He couldn't say that. But should he?

He heard himself speaking without consciously articulating his thoughts. "How can you be sure you can do this without letting Michael and Lucifer out?"

"We can't," she said, "but at least with this we have a chance at doing it. If Raphael acts, they definitely will."

Bobby cleared his throat. "I have a question. Last time we saw Lucifer, he was trapped inside Sam. How do you know that getting Sam out isn't going to be the same thing as bringing Lucifer out?"

Rachel shifted, and for the first time she looked uncomfortable. "We believe Lucifer would have abandoned your brother in the cage, for… ease of access."

Dean understood that to mean that Lucifer would have abandoned Sam so he could torture him a little easier. The thought sickened him.

"But you can't be sure," Bobby said.

"Not until we see him, no. We will know as soon as we lay eyes on him whether or not Lucifer is still inside your brother."

"And if he is?" Dean asked. "Say you get down there and the devil is still riding shotgun, what are you going to do then?"

"Leave him," Rachel said simply. "Would you truly want it any other way?"

* * *

**So… Rachel's a real piece of work and we finally have a plan to get Sam and Castiel free. I know some of you have been impatient for this, but it was important to get things settled in the cage first. **

**Thanks for the reviews and alerts for the last chapter. I appreciate it more than I can say. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks go to Gredelia1 for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 for pre-reading. Love you ladies.**

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

'_Leave him. Would you truly want it any other way?'_

The question reverberated around Dean's mind, taunting him, making his hands fist and his teeth grit.

He knew the _right_ answer, the answer Rachel would want to hear, but he didn't know whether or not it was the answer he could give and be honest.

He wanted Sam back. If that came at the cost of Lucifer, was it worth it? Was there a way to make it work with Sam sharing his body? Could he control Lucifer, keep him beat down the way he had in the cemetery, or was that expecting too much of his brother?

Dean didn't know. But he knew what he had to do.

"Will you give me the rings?" Rachel asked.

Dean stared down at the floor for a moment, picking out the stains in the worn carpet. There was only one answer to give, he knew that, but he was afraid to give it. He was afraid to hope. If they went there and Lucifer still had Sam's body… If they couldn't bring him out…

It had to be risked though if there was even a chance Sam could be saved.

"Dean," Bobby pressed. "It's them or the world, you heard that. If Raphael opens the cage, the world will burn. Everything Sam did would be for nothing."

"I know," he said dully. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "Okay, I'll do it, I'll give you the rings, but you have to promise me something in return."

A look of exquisite relief settled over Rachel's features. "Anything."

"You've got to bring my brother out. If Satan's not riding shotgun, if he's Sam, you have to bring him out. I don't care what it takes. You have to do it."

Rachel considered him for a long moment and then she nodded. "If Lucifer is not in your brother, I will bring him out."

Dean stared into her eyes, searching for a trace of a lie, and found none. He was far from satisfied, but it was as good as it was going to get.

"So…" Bobby clapped his hands together. "How do we do this? Where do we do it?"

"The location of the portal is incidental, but we will go to the place it was last opened."

"Why?" Bobby asked. "If it doesn't matter where you open it, why not do it in the space out back? The closer Sam is to home when he comes out, the better, right?"

"Because there is not nearly enough room here to mobilize our troops. It will take many angels to impede Michael and Lucifer within the cage, and they will all have to be there at the point of opening. Stull cemetery offers us that space. She smiled slightly. "It also has a perfect kind of symmetry."

Dean couldn't argue with that. Something about doing it at Stull seemed right; it clicked together in his mind like a puzzle piece. That was where his brother had been taken away and that was where he would—maybe—return.

"Let's get gone then," he said.

Rachel frowned. "You cannot come with us, Dean. We must do this alone."

Dean huffed a laugh. "You think I'm going hand over the rings and hope Sam makes his way back here okay? No chance. I'm coming with."

"It's not safe. If Michael and Lucifer escape, it will be a bloodbath. If they see you, having been among those that sent them to the cage, they will kill you."

Dean nodded soberly. "Yeah, I know that. Doesn't mean I'm not coming. If there's even a chance that Sam's coming out, I need to be there." What he didn't say, but what was heavy in his mind was the fact that he needed to be the first person Sam saw, not some flying dick-monkey angel.

Rachel looked exasperated. "And if your brother does return, and you are dead, how do you think it will affect him?"

"You best make sure that doesn't happen," Bobby said firmly. "Besides, dead don't mean dead for these boys."

Dean smiled slightly. It really didn't.

"You should give me the rings for safekeeping," Rachel said. "We can take you to Stull."

"No can do," Dean said. "I need to get them back from where I stashed them. You go get your troops ready or drilled or whatever it is you angels do before risking your necks, and I'll meet you there."

She looked like she wanted to argue some more, but Dean stared impassively at her, and eventually she shook her head. "Okay. We will be waiting for you."

With a rustling sound, she disappeared, leaving Dean and Bobby standing alone in the library. They stayed silent for a moment, each lost in thought and then Bobby spoke up. "So, where'd you stash the rings?"

Dean grinned and pulled them out of his pocket where they had been stowed since the moment he picked them up from the ground after Sam had taken the dive. He'd kept them close for safety and out of some morbid sense of nostalgia. They had been the thing that ultimately had taken Sam away, and as long as he had them, he had an option of getting him back.

"Bobby," he said conversationally.

"Yeah, Dean."

Dean looked up and bright, shining happiness blazed in his eyes. "He's coming back."

Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. "I know, boy."

* * *

It was close to dusk by the time they pulled through the gates to Stull cemetery. Dean tried not to think of the last time he'd been here, with _Rock of Ages_ blasting from the stereo and his heart in his throat, but the memories battered at him regardless, and it was with a sense of deep trepidation that he climbed out and made his way across the rough grass toward Rachel.

"Thought you said you'd need many angels to do this," he said. Rachel was flanked by two other angels but there was no one else in sight. Dean wondered idly if she'd had trouble convincing them to risk their necks.

"They are here," she said.

Dean raised a hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun and looked around theatrically. "Really?"

Rachel raised her hand in some kind of signal and the angels started to appear. Ten… twenty… thirty… Dean's mind reeled as he tried to count them all. They just kept appearing, a mass of men and women in tailored suits as far as he could see in the distance and all seeming to share a look of concentration and expectation. If this was Castiel's army, Dean had been underestimating the raw power his friend possessed for over two years.

"Satisfied?" Rachel asked.

Dean nodded mutely. He was more than satisfied. If this sheer force of angelic power couldn't save his brother, nothing could.

He pulled the rings out of his pocket and turned them in his hand, examining them, then he turned to Rachel. "How do we do this?"

She smiled slightly. "We thought perhaps you would like to be the one to do it, so to speak. Do you remember the Enochian needed?"

Like he could forget. They were the last words he'd heard his brother speaking. Something like that had a way of burning itself into your memory. He nodded.

"Then whenever you are ready. This will happen fast. Once the portal is opened, we will have a very short time to retrieve them. We plan to use brute force rather than stealth; we feel it will give us the best chance at success."

Dean looked at the amassed angels and wondered how many of them were going to survive this. Did they know the risk they were taking? Did they even care? Was getting Castiel out, for them, enough reason to fly toward death? He didn't know.

"You ready for this, boy?" Bobby asked quietly.

Dean forced a smile. "I was born ready." Despite his outer confidence, Dean was worried. He was so close to getting Sam out, he could almost see him beside him, but at the same time he was terrified that the angels were going to fail, or worse; they could succeed, saving Castiel, but failing his brother.

"Best get to it then," Bobby said.

Dean dropped the rings down onto the ground and took a deep breath. It was time.

"Bvtmon tabges babalon." The Enochian fell awkwardly from his tongue, but it was enough; it was working.

The rings seemed to sink into the earth as a gaping hole appeared. Bobby grabbed Dean and dragged him back as the portal widened. There was a sound like an enormous sail flapping in the wind, and one by one, the angels disappeared from his view, diving into battle and probably their deaths.

* * *

They were in what had become their usual pose, sitting on the floor and leaning up against the end of the rack. Castiel had an arm around Sam's shoulders, and he was trying to comfort the younger man. Sam was struggling. He was not at risk of failing now, Castiel's grace ensured that, but his spirit was flagging after a long period on the rack. Castiel had begun to believe that they would keep him there forever, but Michael had eventually tired of hearing Sam's cries, and they had abandoned their pleasure for a while.

One of their only peaceful pastimes was talking quietly together. They would exchange stories: Sam's about his life before with Dean, and Castiel's about his many millennia on earth. Castiel was happy to talk, as it seemed to soothe Sam, but he much preferred to listen. Sam had a wealth of stories and very many of them were humorous.

"You glued his hand to a beer bottle?" Castiel asked.

"It was his fault really," Sam said softly. "He started it. I was just returning what he was handing out, but it took him an hour to soak the thing off, and I had to make a run out for nail varnish remover." He laughed slightly. "I think the sales lady thought it was for me."

Castiel shook his head, his lips curving into a smile. "I never saw this side of your brother."

Sam sighed heavily, and Castiel looked down to see his smile had been replaced by a frown. "That's 'cause of me."

Castiel frowned. "How so?"

"Because when you came, Dean had just been—"

Castiel's head snapped up. He had heard it too; a deep, echoing rumble. And then there were voices, shrieking and bellowing, war cries and articulated threats. It was a cacophony of noise that hurt Castiel's ears.

"What's that?" A quiver of fear made its home in Sam's voice.

Castiel couldn't believe they would do this, that they would risk this much. From the sounds he heard, he knew at least half of his army had been dispatched. Why would Rachel allow this to happen? She should have taken command in his stead. He could not believe that she, an experienced soldier, would have sanctioned this madness.

"Castiel!" He heard his name being shrieked in Enochian, and there was unendurable agony in the tone. He recognized the voice; it was Evelyn. She was hurting, because of him.

"Cas, what is it?" Sam asked in a tremulous voice.

Reason caught up with Castiel. He was still sitting with Sam cowering at his side. He needed to move. To act. All this had been done for him, and he was wasting time and lives because he _still_ hadn't moved.

He lurched to his feet and raced around the rack to where Adam's corpse lay. He ripped back his coat and scooped Adam into his arms. His eyes were dead and empty, but Castiel could feel that small spark of life, of soul, in his body that would be his only chance. Cradling Adam in one arm, he tangled the other around the sleeve of his coat.

"Sam," he shouted. "Come here."

Sam crossed the room in long strides and stood in front of Castiel. "Cas, what's happening?"

"They have come for us," Castiel said briskly. "We are going to be saved."

Sam's eyes were wet and when he blinked, a tear slipped down his cheek. "I'm scared."

Castiel was too, but he couldn't allow Sam to see that. "Here," he said, reaching out to Sam. "Hold onto me. No matter what happens, do not let go!"

Sam nodded jerkily and reached out to grip Castiel's hand.

"Come," Castiel said, and led them from the room, tangled as they were.

It was chaos. Lucifer and Michael were surrounded by angels, Castiel's family, and they were slashing out with their blades again and again. Angels were ripped and torn apart and healing instantly. Their pain was immense and their screams piercing. Castiel had never felt so much shame in his life. This was all because of him.

"Cas," Sam said in a weak voice, and it snapped Castiel back to what was happening. He spread his wings and took flight, dragging Sam into the air with him toward freedom. He felt the moment Sam's grip went limp in his and he gripped his hand tighter. Sam was unconscious in this place of no rest, and that was bad. He had to get him out to the world again, before he perished beyond what even grace could heal—a broken mind.

He felt wings rushing around him, and knew he was surrounded. The only thing he didn't know was whether it was his own army that flew around him or Michael and Lucifer making their way toward liberty. He couldn't look. His focus was on the light above them, the dull red light of a sunset.

Then everything changed again. Sam's hand strained against his grip and he looked to see Rachel had wrapped her arms around Sam's limp form.

"No!" Castiel cried.

"You are weakened, Castiel," she shouted. "Let me take him."

Castiel knew it was the truth. Despite the power of Sam's soul burning within him, he was failing too. His grief and guilt were overwhelming him. With a sensation like being torn in two, he released Sam into Rachel's arms and gripped Adam tighter. He had to save him.

They breached the surface of the earth into a rush of voices and light. Castiel's eyes wanted to squeeze shut, but he couldn't allow himself. He had to see Sam. He looked down and saw Rachel setting Sam roughly down and then taking flight again. She gripped Castiel's shoulders and tugged him upward.

"No! I must stay. I must know."

"Come, Castiel," she said firmly.

He felt other hands gripping him. He could see nothing but wings around him, sweeping him upward, taking him home, taking him away from Sam.

He let out an involuntary cry of misery.

* * *

**So… They're out. I imagined the final scene in this chapter for as long as I had the story idea, and it was so good when I finally sat down to write it. I hope I did it justice. **

**Thanks for the reviews and alerts for the last chapter. I appreciate it more than I can say. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thanks to Sandra for pre-reading and Gredelina1 for beta'ing. Love you ladies.**_

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

Cries of jubilation and grief combined welcomed Castiel home. Of the billions of heavens on offer, Rachel had chosen a cathedral for his return. The high vaulted ceiling and stained glass windows were beautiful, but Castiel did not want to see them. He wanted a library with books and papers littering every surface and the scent of whiskey in his nose. He wanted family_._

He could have left there and then. He could have gone back to Sam and carried him away from that field to the only home Castiel knew him to have, but duty held him in place. There were things he must attend to first.

He rounded on Rachel. "How could you do this?"

Rachel stiffened. "How can you ask that? You were needed, Castiel. Heaven needed you."

"How many?" Castiel asked through gritted teeth. "How many of our family were lost because you were afraid to lead in my place? And how many escaped? Are we now facing three archangels in place of one?"

"They didn't escape," Rachel said. "I saw the portal seal over them both, and none perished."

"No!" Castiel said, and there was terrible fury in his voice. "They will suffer a worse fate because of you. They will be trapped in that place with the greatest foes you could have set them against. They will be unable to defend themselves against that pain. I know. I have felt it!"

Rachel looked down at the flagstone floor and her voice was quiet as she answered. "There are worse things, Castiel. Such as the death of creation. They all knew what they were risking. They made the choice to save us from Raphael."

"Because they knew no better!" Castiel shouted. "They are like children in the face of what is happening. They would do anything to save our Father's creation, including destroying themselves. Except they won't even have that comfort. You should have lined them up and smote them one by one rather than leaving them to that fate."

As quickly as it had come, Castiel's anger seeped out of him. He felt drained and wounded in his deepest places. He was grieving for the angels that had been left in his place and feeling terrible guilt. All this because of him.

"Who is that?" Rachel asked, and Castiel looked down into his arms and saw the dimly burning remains of Adam's soul. It should have been a blinding light, but it was not; the damage he had suffered was too great.

"It is Adam," he said, "the third Winchester brother. He perished in the cage. I am going to deliver him to his mother's heaven; he will find peace there. "

Despite the fact he was now returned to heaven and its power, Castiel could not return Adam to his body. It would result in a man devoid of life. He would exist until his body broke down and failed, which would happen too quickly. It was better that he be given some semblance of home for his eternity. Being close to his mother's soul should comfort him.

"Would you like me to take him?" a nervous voice asked, and Castiel turned to Inias who had remained silent until that point.

"No. I feel that this is something I should do myself. Besides, there is something more pressing that I need your assistance with."

"Anything, Castiel, you know that."

"I need you to go to Sam Winchester. See that he is safe and protected. Tell them I shall return as soon as I am able. If they have moved from Stull, you will find them in Bobby Singer's house. Do you know where that is?"

Inias nodded and strode from the vast room. Satisfied that Sam would be taken care of in his absence, he turned to Rachel. "Does Raphael know what happened?"

"I do not know. He has not moved against us, which makes me think not, but we cannot be sure."

Castiel nodded. "I want an assembly of our soldiers in place for when I return. I must take Adam to his mother and address our troops."

And then, Castiel thought, he could get back to Sam.

* * *

Dean was thrown back by the force that shot out of the portal. His eyes squeezed shut against the combined blinding force of the sunset and the white light of so many angels streaking upward.

The noise came and ended swiftly, as if someone had cranked the volume up and then hit the pause button. His eyes opened slowly and he looked around. Bobby was at his side, looking as though he'd been knocked on his ass and was now recovering, too.

"You okay, Bobby?"

Bobby nodded mutely, but his eyes weren't on Dean. They were fixed on something ahead of him. Dean's eyes followed his path and he could suddenly feel his blood rushing through his veins.

It was Sam.

He was lying on his stomach, with his cheek pressed against the ground, looking away from Dean and Bobby. He wasn't moving, but he was there.

"Sammy!" Dean gasped. He crawled across the distance to his brother and spun him roughly onto his back. He wasn't aware that he was crying until the tear splashed down onto Sam's face, making it look as though they were both crying at their reunion.

"Sam! Sam! Sammy!"

Sam did not respond. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted. He looked dead.

"Bobby!" Dean said desperately. "Help me!"

Bobby dropped to his knees beside Dean. His face was a mask of calm, though his eyes gave him away; he was terrified. He pressed his fingers to Sam's throat and then laid a hand over Sam's chest. Dean felt a rush of exquisite relief as he saw Bobby's hand rise and fall with Sam's breaths.

"He's alive," Bobby said shakily.

Dean sat back on his haunches and stared up the sky. For the first time in a long time, he was speaking to an angel when he said a fervent, _'Thank you.'_ He was speaking to every angel that had done this, that had risked themselves to save his brother.

"Sam!" Dean said harshly, patting his brother's cheek roughly. "Wake up!"

For all the good it did, Dean may as well not have tried. The only change in Sam was that his head jolted a little against Dean's palm and his mouth opened a little wider.

"C'mon, Sam," Bobby said. "Time to rise and shine."

He pinched Sam's earlobe hard, Dean saw the skin whiten under his fingers. When that yielded no response, Bobby rubbed his knuckles hard against Sam's sternum, but Sam did not react. Dean had seen enough _Dr. Sexy. M.D. _to know that was a bad sign.

"Bobby," he said in a raw, broken voice, "what's wrong with him?"

"You think I know?" Bobby said roughly, and then he shook his head. "Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with him, but I know we're doing no good here. We've got to get him back to my place. C'mon."

He got to his feet and made his way over to the car. He opened the rear door and then came back and looped his arms under Sam's shoulders. Dean scrambled up and took Sam's legs. Feeling sickened by what he had to do, Dean helped carry Sam to the car and ease him onto the back seat. Sam was too tall, and they had to fold his legs into a position that would be uncomfortable if he was conscious. When he was sure Sam was as secure as they could make him, he climbed in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. It roared to life and vibrated the seat slightly. Bobby climbed in beside him and looked over the back of the seat at Sam.

"Keep an eye on him, Bobby."

"You know it. You just concentrate on not wrapping us around a tree."

Dean put the car in gear and eased them out of the cemetery and onto the main road. Despite Bobby's warning, Dean's eyes slid to the rear-view mirror every so often, checking for signs that Sam was stirring.

* * *

The drive back to Bobby's took too long, hours too long, and Sam didn't even crack an eyelid. After the first hour of trying to reassure Dean with worthless words of comfort, only to receive biting remarks in return, Bobby fell silent; he just stared over the seat at Sam—who still wasn't moving.

Eventually, they came to Bobby's street, and Dean slowed the car slightly. The last thing they needed was Sheriff Mills or one of her deputies pulling them over for speeding. Dean turned the car in at Bobby's gate and weaved through the junkers to the house.

As they rounded the corner, they saw there was a man standing on the porch. Dean cursed at the sight of the angel—it wasn't Castiel—but Bobby exhaled a shaky breath. "It's okay. It's Inias. He's one of Cas' guys."

Dean pulled the car to a halt and Bobby climbed out. He raised a hand to the angel, beckoning him forward, and Inias came.

"Help us out," Bobby said. "We've got to get him inside."

Inias nodded curtly and came around to the rear door where Dean was waiting. He didn't want this angel touching Sam, he didn't want anyone touching him, but he knew there was no way he could get Sam down to the panic room, even with Bobby's help, and that was where he wanted him. He didn't know who else would be coming for them, but the panic room was the most easily defendable place.

He gripped Sam's shoulders and eased him out of the car and into Inias' arms. It looked a little ludicrous, seeing Sam cradled in the arms on this average-height man. But he was cradling Sam carefully against his chest, resting Sam's head against his shoulder. It was the way Dean would have held Sam had he been able to.

"Where should I take him?" Inias asked.

"Basement," Bobby said brusquely. "Follow me."

Bobby unlocked the door and led them through the hall and down the steps to the basement. Dean followed at the rear. His eyes were fixed on Sam, searching for a sign, any sign that he was waking up. Bobby flipped on the light and opened the door. It creaked loudly and the sound made the hair rise on the back of Dean's neck. The panic room meant bad news. It meant demon blood withdrawal and hiding shelter from the witnesses and being handcuffed to the cot to stop him going to Michael. Nothing good had ever happened there, but it was the safest place for Sam until he woke.

Bobby dragged the cot into the middle of the room and gestured to the angel to lay Sam down. He did so, incredibly gently, and Dean hurried across the room to reposition Sam's head on the pillow so he looked comfortable. Against the grey striped sheets, Sam looked pale and wan. There were shadows under his eyes as if he was dragging a sleepless night with him. Dean didn't like to look at him like that, but he couldn't look away. It was Sam. He was really there.

"Inias," Bobby said softly. "Did…" He cleared his throat. "Did Cas get out?"

Inias smiled. "Yes. I have seen him. He is in Heaven now."

"And did we get them out clean or are there three archangels gunning for the world now?"

Dean was a little ashamed that he hadn't even thought of Cas or Michael and Lucifer since they left Stull. Having Sam back eclipsed all that, but now he recognized his lapse. He should have been calling Castiel till he answered. He should have checked whether his friend had made it out, too.

"Michael and Lucifer are trapped still. We were fast enough to close the portal before they could escape."

Dean sighed with relief. Raphael still sounded like a sack full of trouble but at least the two mighty douches hadn't got out, too. One archangel they could deal with, maybe, but three was a little out of their league.

* * *

Angels seemed to have infinite patience. Hours passed and Inias stood just outside the panic room door. He didn't look bored. He remained alert and tensed for action, but silent. It was like having a mute marine on duty.

Dean's patience was spent before they'd even left Stull, and his tension only grew as they waited for Sam to wake, to twitch, to change his deep steady breaths, to give any sign that he was still in there. He vacillated between begging silently and threatening Sam vocally.

When the dawn rolled around, lightening the sky above the giant vent set into the ceiling, Dean had an idea.

"Inias," he said, aware that he was addressing the angel by name for the first time. "Is there anything you can do? Like mind meld with Sam. Castiel has popped into my dreams before, and Anna managed it once. Maybe if you could talk to him you could snap him out of this."

For the first time, Inias looked uncomfortable. "I could…" he began. "But I would not advise it. Your brother is not sleeping; he is deeply unconscious. To attempt to break into that would be dangerous. I believe that what is happening to his is a natural response to an unnatural situation. He went through great trial, both in the cage and through the portal, and that has weakened him. I do not believe adding an angel's intervention into that would be good for him."

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his short hair. He just wanted Sam awake. Was that too much to ask? He wanted to talk to him, to reassure him; he would need it. Dean had firsthand experience of post-hell emotional jet lag and Sam had always felt things much more deeply than Dean. He would need his brother. And Dean was ready for that. He would do whatever Sam needed, just as soon as he _woke up!_

* * *

Dean didn't mean to fall asleep. But after twenty-four hours of extreme tension, he couldn't help it. Bobby had brought them chairs down hours ago, and he was sitting beside Dean, both of them facing the cot and Sam.

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep and he wasn't sure what woke him at first, but he jerked awake with a soft gasp and sore neck. Bobby was asleep in his chair, too, with his chin resting on his chest. Dean stretched and then paused with his arms above his head.

Sam was awake. Dean stared at him for a long moment, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

"Sam?" he said, sounding as stunned as he felt.

Sam's lips curved into a soft smile. "Hey, Dean."

"Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

He lurched to his feet and crossed the distance between them in two strides, and then his arms were around his brother, and he was fisting the fabric of his shirt in his hands. He didn't care that Sam hadn't got to his feet to meet him; he just cared that it was his _awake_ brother that he was holding and that he seemed okay.

After a long moment, he pulled back and gripped Sam's shoulders. "Damn, Sam, that was a hell of a nap."

Sam smiled again.

"You okay?" Dean asked, sounding a little worried now.

Sam nodded. "Dean," he said softly. "Where's Cas?"

Dean gnawed on his bottom lip. "Heaven."

"Okay. That's…" He trailed off as he caught sight of something behind Dean. He got to his feet in one smooth movement and walked past Dean as if he wasn't there.

Dean turned and saw Castiel standing on the threshold. Then Castiel stepped forward and opened his arms wide.

"I am here, Sam," Castiel said. "I came."

Sam stepped into his embrace and spoke in a whisper Dean wasn't sure he was supposed to hear. "I knew you would."

* * *

**So… Sammy is back. I know some of you were hoping he'd be all Hell-addled and limp, but I have gone in a different direction with this fic as I thought I explored post-Hell issues pretty well in Picking Up The Pieces. The reasoning behind Sam's change of pace is explained in the next chapter. **

**Thanks to all that have read and reviewed. I really love hearing from you all. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	8. Chapter 8

**_Thanks to Sandra for pre-reading and Gredelina1 for beta'ing. Love you ladies._**

* * *

_**Chapter Eight**_

Sam woke in increments. The first thing to return to him was sound, and he marveled at what he heard. He felt like he was in the middle of a crowded auditorium and everyone was speaking at once. But these voices were like nothing he'd ever heard before in his life. They were beautiful, soft and musical, and he wanted to listen to them forever. Random words slipped through the hum, he heard his own name and Castiel's among them, and the voices sounded both jubilant and overwhelmed all at once. The sound was a hum.

The next thing to come to him was touch. He was lying on something soft with hard lines beneath. They were not the harsh lines of the rack though, so he didn't panic. He flexed his fingers and felt his blood rushing through them, as if he had been holding them into tight fists too long and now he had freed them. His body seemed to buzz slightly. The sensation was familiar and new at the same time, and he puzzled over that for a moment before shrugging it off as unimportant.

He drew in a deep breath and was met with familiar scents. He knew immediately where he was. He focused on what he was hearing outside of the hum and heard the thrum of the vent; it was like a giant heartbeat. That meant he was in the panic room. He loved Bobby's house. He'd spent weeks here as a child when his father had been off on hunts—it was the closest thing to a home he had outside of the Impala—but he hated the panic room. The connotations it held were dark and painful. And yet… he didn't feel it now. He felt perfectly peaceful.

He opened his eyes and his vision was filled with the rippling devil's trap. He looked to the side and smiled slightly. Dean and Bobby were there, fast asleep on chairs with their chins touching their chests. Sam felt a surge of love for them both. They were here. They were with him. They made sure he didn't wake up alone.

That feeling of love blossomed within him and lifted him, increasing the sense of serenity he felt.

Sam had never been at peace in his life, not that he could remember. Perhaps in those perfect six months before his mother died, he would have felt it, cradled in her arms, but he had no memory of that. He felt it now though. Everything in him was calm and serene. The adrenaline that was always so close to the surface was absent now. He did not need it. He was with his family in the most protected place he knew. There was no need for fear. He swung his legs around and perched on the edge of the cot.

Dean woke with a soft gasp, and his eyes drifted to the side, to Bobby. His arms came up above his head in a stretch and he glanced at Sam. His arms froze above his head and he stared at Sam with a look of immense shock and maybe a little wonder.

"Sam?"

Sam smiled slightly. "Hey, Dean." It felt so good to say the name, to be addressing his brother after all this time apart. He didn't know how long it had been for Dean, but it had felt like forever for him.

"Sammy?"

He knew what Dean was going through. He remembered it well: how it had felt to see him standing on the threshold of that motel room when Dean had been saved. The way the shock had rolled over him and the fury that his brother's memory had been defiled by something dark. He remembered how right it had felt to grip the hilt of that knife in his hand and lurch toward him, intent on revenge. Then Bobby had spoken and Sam's world had been turned upside down again. 'It's really him'.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Dean was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room and throwing his arms around Sam. Sam absorbed the embrace, feeling the sense of serenity increasing. Dean was here. It was all okay.

And then Dean released him and gripped his shoulders. "Damn, Sam, that was a hell of a nap."

Sam smiled again.

"You okay?" Dean sounded concerned now, and Sam realized he was worrying his brother.

He rallied for something to say and stumbled across a pressing question. "Dean, where's Cas?"

Dean looked uncomfortable and his teeth bit into his bottom lip. "Heaven."

He should have expected it. Where else would an angel be? At least he was out, Sam thought, even if they weren't together. "Okay," he said. "That's…"

Then he saw him, and his words trailed off. The last image he had from before was Castiel's face as he changed from the man Sam knew into a thing composed of pure, brilliant light. Now he was Cas again, in his trenchcoat and with his tie askew. He was looking at Sam the way Dean had, as if not sure what he was seeing was real.

Sam got to his feet without conscious instruction and walked toward Castiel. The angel crossed the threshold and came into the room with his arms wide, ready to receive Sam, and suddenly there was nothing Sam wanted more, no place he'd rather be, than encapsulated in Castiel's arms again, not taking comfort the way he had in the cage, but confirming their freedom.

"I am here, Sam," Castiel said. "I came."

Sam stepped into his arms and spoke in a whisper. "I knew you would."

They held onto each other for a long time, neither apparently wanting to pull back and break the embrace. Then someone cleared their throat roughly, and Sam released the fabric of Castiel's coat and turned back to the room.

Bobby was awake; it seemed to be him that had made the noise, as he was watching them with a raised eyebrow now. "Hey, Bobby," Sam said with a fond smile.

Bobby stepped forward and then hesitated before pulling Sam into a hug. His strong arms wrapped around Sam, holding him for a moment and then pushing him back so he could look him up and down.

"You okay?" he asked. "You need anything?"

Sam assessed himself. He was hungry and thirsty, but those feelings felt secondary to the fulfillment of his return.

"Sam?" Dean pressed, and Sam realized he had been quiet too long again. Bobby and Dean were looking at him expectantly, and he knew they needed something, but he didn't know what. It was as they were expecting him to freak out suddenly, but he had never felt better.

"I could use a sandwich?" he framed it as a question, and they both seemed to come to life again with the request.

"'Course," Bobby said. "You've got to be starving."

"Come on," Dean said, tugging on his arm and leading him to the door.

Sam allowed himself to be led out of the panic room and up the stairs. He looked back at the door, to check Castiel was still there, and received a nod in return. Castiel would have to go sooner or later, but for that moment, he was there, and that was good.

When they got to the kitchen, Dean pushed Sam at one of the chairs and then set to work, pulling things out of the fridge and handing them to Bobby. They were like surgeons working together, and Sam was reminded irresistibly of Lucifer and Michael in the cage. His eyes roved until he found Castiel, standing by the arch. Their eyes met and Sam knew they were thinking the same thing.

Castiel crossed the room and pulled out the chair beside Sam. He sat down and then shifted it closer, scraping the legs across the linoleum, until their knees were pressed together. Sam smiled slightly at him and received one in return. Then Sam realized the sound of preparation had faltered and he looked up. Dean and Bobby had paused mid-action—Dean was gripping a loaf of bread and Bobby had a bottle of mayo in his hand—staring at them. Sam thought that perhaps it looked a little odd, for them to be sat so close together, but they didn't mind their scrutiny. He wasn't going to move.

"How are you?" Castiel asked softly. His voice was low, so low it was clear he was speaking to Sam alone, but Dean and Bobby scrutinized him as he considered his answer.

"I'm fine," Sam said.

"Really?" Bobby asked, looking uncomfortable. "Because it's okay not to be, fine, you know?"

"I am though." He smiled slightly. "Just hungry." He wasn't lying. He was fine. He knew he shouldn't be, he should probably be reeling from what he'd been through, but he wasn't. Hell was like a bad dream or a book he'd read once. He remembered it all, but the only thing that stayed with him, that resonated with him now, was Castiel.

Bobby nodded and turned back to the counter. Dean just watched him, silent and attentive. Sam pushed his hair back from his face and looked out of the window at the bright sun reflecting off the junkers. He could feel Dean's gaze on him, and while it should have agitated him, it didn't. He understood why Dean would be looking, as he had once felt the same.

Bobby presented a sandwich with flourish and set it down in front of Sam. "Here you go, boy."

Sam smiled his thanks and took a bite. It was good, and his stomach received the food gratefully. He wondered idly how long it had been since he'd eaten, how long he'd been gone. He chewed and swallowed then asked.

"About three months," Dean said. "Feels longer, right?"

Sam nodded vaguely and looked to Castiel. "How long were you there?"

"I believe two earth months have passed since I came to you. It's transcribes to Hell time as…" He trailed off. "Well, you remember how it was."

Sam remembered well. He remembered the unending days of pain and the crippling misery. He remembered cowering under Castiel's arms. He remembered losing Adam. He remembered being so close to perishing himself. He remembered that Castiel saved him.

"Cas," he said softly. "Did Adam…"

Dean gasped. "Adam!"

"He was saved, too," Castiel said, ignoring Dean. "He is free now. I have taken him to his mother's heaven. He will be at peace there. He may even recover somewhat."

"Recover?" Dean said, and there was a bite of anger in his tone. "Recover from what?"

"Hell," Sam said simply. Dean looked at him expectantly, waiting for more, but Sam found he didn't want to talk about that. He wasn't despairing, he was still peaceful, but he didn't want to have to explain what had happened to their brother in his care, or his own culpability in it. He didn't want to talk about it, but he didn't mind when Castiel took up the explanation for him.

"Adam… perished in the cage."

"He died?" Dean asked. "How can he die in Hell? He's got to be dead to be there, right?"

"Adam's soul was the thing that perished. It is not dead in the literal sense of the word, a soul cannot be destroyed completely, but the damage it suffered was so great that it became less that the barest spark of life, unable to feel. It is that mere spark that is in Heaven now with his mother."

"But Sam…" Dean said, and Sam shifted uncomfortably under his and Bobby's combined gaze. They seemed to be searching him for signs that he too was damaged, close to perishing. He decided then and there that he would do whatever it took to keep the fact he'd almost followed Adam down that path from them. They didn't need to know how close he had come, and they didn't need to know how Castiel had saved him. He doubted they, Dean least of all, would understand.

"Sam is fine," Castiel said.

Sam nodded serenely and took another bite of his sandwich. He felt fine, better than fine. He'd been through hell and he'd made it out intact. Adam was at the closest thing to peace that was possible for him now. He had his family around him and Castiel was there. He had never imagined he would have this peace again. The only thing he was wanting for now was the chance to speak to Castiel alone. He wanted to talk to him about the hum in his mind. Castiel would know what to do; there was no need to trouble Dean with it.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable, and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth a few times only to snap it closed again without speaking. Then he spoke in a rush and Sam was sure what he said wasn't what he intended to say. "Cas, you should have told me you were going in after Sam."

"How would that have been helpful to anyone?"

"I would have known. I _should_ have known. You don't go doing something that huge without letting someone know. You don't do something like that period. Not alone."

"I was attempting to save Sam," Castiel said patiently.

"I know, and believe me, I'm grateful. I'm just saying, you don't do something like that alone. You take backup."

Sam felt a flare of sadness separate to his confusion. He puzzled over the emotion for a moment, wondering what it meant, then shrugged it off as unimportant when Castiel spoke.

"Backup would have meant putting other angels in danger of…" He shook his head. "I cannot make you understand, Dean, but I know I did the right thing." He shifted slightly closer to Sam. It was only a matter of millimeters, but Sam felt the difference.

"Well, we're grateful," Bobby said gruffly. "Damn grateful, Cas."

There was an expectant silence and Sam realized he was supposed to be saying something. He turned to the angel and stared deep into the blue eyes that had been one of the only light spots for him for so long.

"Thank you, Cas."

Castiel smiled and laid his hand over Sam's where it rested on the table. "You are welcome."

* * *

**When I had the idea for this story, the first thought was that hooked me in was Castiel and Sam in Hell together. The second was the idea that Sam and Castiel's bond would be more than just sharing grace and soul. I wanted a connection that was more than emotional and I wanted Sam to have something good inside him, something opposite in nature to the demon blood. I **_**think**_** I succeeded in explaining that, but if you have questions, feel free to drop me a line. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


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